


I Will Wrap You In My Arms (And Know That You've Been Saved)

by orphan_account



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Alternate Universe - Zombies, Apocalypse, M/M, Off-screen Minor Character Death, moderate swearing, slight angst, slightly graphic descriptions of dead bodies, zombie killing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-28
Updated: 2011-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 11:04:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/734954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one knows where it begins, or what it is for that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Will Wrap You In My Arms (And Know That You've Been Saved)

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt for the [logan_james](logan-james.livejournal.com) livejournal fic-fest: _Minnesota has already been overrun with zombies and all of logan's family and friends are no more. He manages to keep alive but gets cornered one night and is saved by an emotionally aloof and badass James. James heard a radio frequency talking about shelter, food, and protection in Los Angeles and he decides to head there. But first he wants to make a detour at the Palmwoods Hotel b/c that is the last place his twin sister, Camille, was staying with their father (so she could be an actress) before the trouble went down. He invites Logan to come with him and as they travel, Logan finds himself falling for the troubled James. Can James ever return his feelings though? And what will they find when they reach the Palmwoods? (Must have them eventually meet up with the Palmwoods gang--whether or not they're alive is up to you)_

**Part One**

No one knows where it begins, or what it is for that matter. Some say it’s a disease brought to America by some international traveler; others say it’s a mutant form of the flu. There are also those daring few who step up to say that it’s a disease created and covered up by the government, some fucked up sort of population control gone awry, or some sick pharmacologist’s attempt at creating some type of drug that landed in the wrong hands.

Whatever it is, it’s slowly creeping its way across the US, wiping out city after city, leaving them rundown and deserted – deserted being used loosely because cities aren’t actually deserted. They’re overrun with these things, these things that no one knows what to call them, news broadcasters shying away from terms like ‘zombie’ and ‘undead’, instead referring to them as The Infected, like that somehow makes what’s happening easier to accept.

And what’s happening is this: this disease or whatever it is infiltrates the brain, killing off all sense of rationality and ultimately, killing the person it’s infected. But they don’t die, not really, because they come back, skin sunken and sallow, eyes bloodshot, pupils a burning red, their only thought being to attack, to satisfy the bloodlust curling through them.

Televisions across the US are playing a loop of the same broadcast, advising everyone to stay indoors, to board up their houses and block off every possible way of entrance.

Unfortunately, the broadcast doesn’t always reach in time, or at all, airwaves quickly going to static as cities are taken over, the disease spreading far faster than anyone had anticipated, leaving hundreds of thousands of people unnotified, their lives hanging precariously in the balance as they’re left unaware until the moment their city is in shambles.

\--

Fifteen year old Logan Mitchell is at the hospital with his dad, part of Take Your Child to Work Day, which conveniently doubles as a type of career day. His mom had offered to let him come along with her to the numerous house showings she has today, but Logan politely declined, saying that since being a doctor is what he’s most interested in, it only makes sense that he follows along with his dad.

His dad seemed pretty indifferent to the whole thing, barely batting an eyelash when Logan mentioned he’d be joining him for the day. He allowed Logan to come along nonetheless, answering every question Logan threw at him with ease.

They’re just getting back from a quick lunch break, walking through the halls of the emergency room when an ambulance pulls up and a group of paramedics rush in through the hospital doors, holding tightly to the stretcher they’re pushing and pulling along the corridors to the first available room they can find.

Logan stands there, shoving his hands in the pockets of the doctor’s coat his dad gave to him, Dr. Mitchell stitched across the breast pocket, eyes flicking back and forth between his dad and the room the medics disappeared into.

Apparently Logan’s dad isn’t needed because there’s already a flock of doctors and nurses rushing into the room, hurried shouts floating out to where Logan and his dad are standing.

“Come on, son, let’s go see what we can find,” Dr. Mitchell says, pulling Logan along with a hand on his forearm.

With one last glance back at the room, Logan allows himself to be pulled along by his dad, walking through the bleak white walls of the emergency room as the sounds from the room become muted before disappearing altogether.

\--

Logan follows his dad out of a patient’s room, eyes wide in amazement as his dad closes the patient’s file and places it into the plastic holder screwed into the wall next to the door, above the placard with the room number painted on it. There’s never been a doubt in his mind that his dad’s a smart person, but actually seeing him go through the patient’s symptoms while flicking through the chart to come up with a diagnosis in a matter of minutes is all kinds of awesome to Logan.

Dr. Mitchell looks at Logan, chuckling softly and then saying, “One day you’re gonna be in my shoes, kid.”

Logan smiles big and wide, but doesn’t get to answer because a nurse is running up to his dad, pulling him away with a worried look on her face. He follows quickly behind, standing beside his dad as his dad picks up a phone at the nurses’ station, watching intently as his dad’s face changes from casual to panicked.

Dr. Mitchell sets the phone down and pulls his keys from his pocket, shoving them into Logan’s hands as he says, “You need to take the car and leave. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

“What? Dad, no. I wanna stay here with you,” Logan says, “I’m supposed to be here with you all day.”

“I’m sorry, son, but you really have to go. I’ll explain later, just please. Please go,” Dr. Mitchell pleads.

With a huff, Logan holds onto the keys tightly, shrugging out of his dad’s doctor’s coat and handing it to him. “I’ll see you later,” he says gruffly, and then he’s taking off down the corridor, picking up speed as disappointment makes tears prick at his eyes.

The scene outside is nothing he could’ve prepared himself for, ambulance after ambulance pulling up and medics rushing inside with stretchers. He gets to his dad’s car as quickly as he can, a sense of dreadfulness washing over him. His eyes are stuck on the long line of ambulances parked at the emergency entrance, and it makes him fumble the keys as he tries to unlock the door.

Logan has no idea what’s going on and he hates it, hates not knowing what’s happening. He prides himself on knowing as much about everything as he possibly can, and the only thing he does know at this moment is that whatever is going on obviously isn’t good. There’s no way his dad would have just given him the keys to the car and let him drive alone, especially since he’s only a few weeks into his driver’s education program. That’s not to say he doesn’t know how to drive; his dad had taken him out on the road a few times, and as with almost everything Logan attempts, he mastered it the first time.

He shoves the key roughly into the ignition, turning it and starting the car. He buckles his seatbelt and adjusts the mirrors, putting the car into reverse before carefully backing out of the parking stall. There’s a long line of cars that he gets stuck behind, drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as he waits for them all to move. After what seems like forever, he finally gets onto the road, heading in the direction of his house.

He’s driving well below the speed limit, eyes wide as he takes in the scene before him. Cars are stalled at every intersection, drivers slumped against the steering wheel, the unmistakable trail of blood leaking from their lips and forehead. He idles beside a stopped car, a scream ripped from his throat as the driver he presumed dead lifts their head and stares at him for a moment before leaping out of the car and slamming into his.

His grip on the steering wheel tightens and he floors it, weaving through all the stopped cars and blowing through stop signs. He has no time to worry about being pulled over by a cop, his focus aimed solely on getting home in one piece.

When he gets into his neighborhood, he breathes a little easier, seeing that it’s in almost the same state it was when he left with his dad earlier in the day. His mom’s car is in the driveway and he quickly pulls in, parking his dad’s car next to hers and fumbling with the seatbelt as he tries to get out.

Finally freed, Logan runs into the house and shuts the door loudly behind him, breathing heavy as he gets it locked.

Logan expects to hear his mom’s voice call out to greet him, but when he doesn’t, fear and worry instantly take over. He makes his way into the living room, breathing a little easier as he sees his mom sitting there safely. One look at her and he knows everything is far from being okay, mascara-marred tears running down her face.

“Mom?” Logan says quietly, voice shaking.

She doesn’t turn to him, her eyes fixed on the television screen. Logan follows her gaze, his heart clawing its way up his throat. There on the screen is the hospital, the same hospital his dad works at, the same hospital he was at not even a half hour ago, only now it looks nothing like it did before, cars overturned in the lot, others crashed together. The news reporter on the screen is talking, the words failing to register in Logan’s mind.

“Mom?” Logan tries again, feeling like a confused child.

She finally turns to him, bounding up off the sofa and wrapping him tightly in her arms. She pulls back, running a hand over his cheek and asks, “Where’s your dad? Is he outside?”

“He stayed at the hospital,” Logan says, and he wishes now more than ever his dad was home with them because his mom is wrapping him up tight in an embrace, sobbing quietly into his shoulder.

“What’s going on?” Logan asks, holding onto his mom tightly.

“I don’t know, baby. They said - the news reporter said th-that there’s some kind of disease outbreak taking over the hospital,” she replies, trying hard to even out her breathing.

“What do you mean? What kind of disease? What about dad? Is dad okay?” It’s too many questions, Logan knows, but he needs answers.

“They don’t know. No one knows. Your dad - I don’t - they said almost everyone in the hospital is probably already infected.”

Logan’s knees buckle and judging by the tone of his mom’s voice, he doesn’t even have to ask how bad it is; her voice, her expression says it all. His mom manages to keep them upright, pulling away and steering him toward the sofa. There’s a tight lump in his throat and the sensation of tears forming in his eyes and he feels so many things: upset, pissed, hurt, confused. Why couldn’t his dad have left with him? Why did he have to stay? It’s not fair.

“I know it’s not, baby, I know it’s not,” his mom says, kissing his forehead, because apparently he said that last part out loud, and it’s the only thing that makes sense to him right now, the absolute unfairness of this entire situation.

They sit together in silence, watching the news for what seems like hours, long enough that Logan has the entire broadcast memorized because it’s playing on a loop. Logan’s cradled in his mom’s arms, feeling safe and protected as his mind races, trying to process what’s going on.

\--

The next thing Logan knows, he’s being awakened by his mom shaking him roughly, telling him to get down to the basement. Panic runs through him and all he can think of is the way his dad made him leave the hospital earlier and how he ultimately lost his dad because of that. He doesn’t want to lose his mom, can’t lose her; she’s all he has left.

“Mom, no,” Logan cries, fear gripping his insides.

“Logan, please. Get down to the basement now,” Mrs. Mitchell says, pushing Logan in the direction of the basement door.

“Mommy, please,” Logan begs, tears already running down his face, sounding years younger than he is.

“Logan, you have to,” she orders, jumping where she stands when the sound of a window breaking echoes through the house.

Logan sobs, tripping over his feet as he hurries to the basement door, looking back to see if his mom is following, only to cry harder when he sees that she’s not. He gets himself into the basement, locking himself inside and sitting at the base of the stairs, knees hugged to his chest as the sounds of his mother’s screaming pierce his ears.

Minutes pass and the terrified screams turn into something more primal, something that rattles Logan down to his core, petrifying him out of his mind. He bites the material of his shirt to muffle his sobs, crying himself hoarse and tired as the sounds diminish.

He doesn’t know how much times passes but he finally wears himself out, tears still sliding hotly down his face as he drifts off into a fitful sleep.

\--

Logan jerks awake hours later, sweat covering his body from the nightmare he had. His entire body shakes as he stands up, every bone and muscle aching from the position he was in. He holds his breath as he climbs up the stairs, pressing his ear to the door and listening intently for any sounds. Hearing nothing, he opens the door quietly, peering around and taking in everything. He lets out a quiet breath of air and tip-toes out, making his way through the hallway up to the stairs, ascending them quickly to his bedroom.

A shaky sob escapes as everything that happened floods back, how he has no mother or father now, how that fucking disease has messed up his life.

With shaky hands, he opens his closet door and pulls out his backpack, throwing his books onto his bed and filling it with clothes instead. He stares down at the math book he’s dropped onto his bed, momentarily wondering if his friends and their families have managed to escape the disease.

His hand reaches for his phone and he’s punching in a number he’s had memorized since almost the moment he got it, pressing the call button and waiting. When he puts it up to his ear, there’s no ringing, nothing, so he pulls it away to check that the call has gone through. He holds it up to his ear once more, hoping to hear ringing, disappointed when he doesn’t.

The landline doesn’t seem to be working either and it’s a bit childish, but Logan throws the phone at the wall anyway, momentarily satisfied with the sound of it breaking.

He finishes packing quickly, grabbing a framed photo of him and his two best friends, and another of him and his parents, carefully placing them inside the backpack with his clothes.

Filled with everything he needs, Logan shoulders his backpack as he gives his room one last glance. He breathes deep and exits his room for the last time, steeling his nerves as he tip-toes back down the stairs. A look out the front window shows a wrecked and deserted street, and Logan decides it's now or never, pulling open the front door as he makes a run for his dad's car. The keys car are still sitting in the ignition and Logan takes a quick second to thank whoever's listening that he was in such a hurry to get out earlier that he left them in there.

Logan has no idea where he’s going, but anywhere is better than here. He starts the car and reverses out of the driveway, shifting into drive and peeling down the street.

Everything is so dead and quiet, not another single running car on the road. There are even more stopped and crashed than earlier when Logan made his way home, but now they’re all empty, no inhabitants in sight. He turns up the volume of the radio, scanning the airwaves until he hits a channel that’s not static.

Little to no information is given and Logan hits the steering wheel in frustration, wanting some answers, pissed that no one’s able to give him any. All that’s given is a variation of the broadcast that was playing on the tv earlier, stating that no one knows what these things are, but that the disease has drastically changed those affected, that they’re dangerous and that everyone should take great care in protecting themselves.

Logan drives until he hits the outskirts of town, picking up speed once he hits the highway. He drives through county line after county line, drives until he can’t keep his eyes open a moment longer, grateful when a sign for lodging appears.

It’s more than unsafe for him to stop anywhere, but he’s so tired his eyes keep drifting shut. He pulls up alongside the curb, stopping at a bed and breakfast in the middle of whatever town he’s in, the windows boarded up. He quickly runs inside, sees that no one’s there and runs back out, grabbing his backpack and keys from the car, preparing to make his way back inside.

Logan freezes beside the car, a flock of infected people standing before him, growling hungrily, their eyes bright red even in the dark of the night.

This is it, Logan thinks to himself, screwing his eyes shut tight as he waits for them to attack him.

It never comes, though. Instead, there’s the sound of gunshots being fired, the clang of a bat hitting bone, bodies dropping to the ground.

“You need to move,” a voice says, making Logan open his eyes and look around, startled. He’s stuck where he’s standing, fear gripping his insides, his eyes roaming over the multitude of bodies covering the ground in front of him.

“MOVE!” the voice shouts, and Logan does, not caring that he’s stepping on all the dead bodies, ignoring the crunch he hears when he steps on them.

There’s the sound of the gun going off a few more times and then the guy drags him away with a hand wrapped around his wrist, Logan trying to pull away. He doesn’t know this guy, doesn’t know if he has the disease that’s turning everyone into that, but the guy won’t let him go, his grip only tightening in response every time Logan tries to pull away.

Logan gives in, lets himself be dragged away. He ends up being pulled back inside the door of the bed and breakfast, and he assumes that this guy lives here. The guy finally lets him go when they’re locked up inside and he walks away without a word, leaving Logan standing there in confusion.

It’s clear that the place has been ransacked by those things; from the looks of it, more than once. Counters are ripped to shreds, every piece of furniture broken and unusable. Logan thinks for a moment he’d be better off out there, trying to fend for himself against those things, but he quickly dismisses the thought when the guy returns, beckoning Logan to him with a finger.

“What the fuck were you doing out there? You’re aware it’s completely unsafe to be out there at this time, aren’t you?” the guys asks, fuming.

Logan stands there, dumbstruck. Who the fuck does this guy think he is cursing at him like that? He steps back, putting enough distance between them and finally answers, “I have no idea who you are, or why you think that just because you saved my fucking life it gives you the right to yell at me like that, but I am not a damn child and I do not appreciate your tone.”

“Really? I don’t give a shit if you’re not a child. You acted like a child, roaming around out there when apparently you didn’t know what you were up against. Did you want to die? Is that it? Did you want those fucking things to get you? Because surely, you can march right out the damn door and I won’t give a shit if you don’t come back.”

Logan’s quite astonished at the venomous outbursts that keep coming his way, so he takes a deep breath, calming his nerves from the irritation, anxiety, the adrenaline that’s quickly draining out of him, and his tone is more calm when he speaks. “No, I don’t want to die. I didn’t - I don’t- I don’t know what to do, okay. I panicked and I just. I’m scared and I have no one left a-and,” he stops, swallowing past the lump in his throat, the pain of losing everyone he loves quickly catching up to him.

“Right,” the guy says, like he doesn’t believe a word of what Logan just said. He doesn’t say anything else, though, so the conversation just stops, an awkward silence coming between them.

The seconds continue to tick by and no one says anything, the silence becoming almost stifling.

“Right, okay. You’re welcome to stay, otherwise, there’s the door.” Logan debates leaving for a brief second, but he has no way to defend himself out there, so he shakes his head, looking around for where he’s supposed to stay.

“Um. C-can I at least know your name?” Logan asks, still surveying his surroundings.

“It’s James,” the guy - James - says, turning and disappearing again.

“I’m Logan,” Logan says to James’ retreating figure, sighing heavily when James doesn’t turn back.

He doesn’t know what to do, so he stands there awkwardly, once again surveying his surroundings. He makes sure not to follow where James went because it seems obvious to him that James really doesn’t want his company. It’ll be okay, he figures; he doesn’t need the company either, not really.

\--

Logan’s looking for somewhere to lay down when there’s a scratching sound against the door. He ponders opening it for a moment, but suddenly James is there, gun held tightly in his hand.

James’ aim is poised right at the door, his hand visibly trembling. The line of his back is tense and rigid and he’s barely breathing. The scratching turns into loud thuds against the door, Logan letting out a yelp as he jumps in fright.

“Shut up,” James hisses, tightening his grip on the gun.

Logan resists the urge to snap back at James, tell him something about how it’s a natural reaction that he’s scared. He keeps his mouth shut, though, waiting with bated breath as the thudding increases before tapering off and then disappearing altogether. James’ hand drops and he scrubs his free hand over his face, letting out a long-winded sigh. Logan moves to speak but James backs away, about to disappear when the thudding returns, louder and harder than it had been before.

“Dammit,” James says, pulling back the hammer of the gun carefully as he aims it back at the door.

Logan stands there, stock still, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. He had no idea this is how bad it was.

The door creaks, the wood starting to splinter away, falling to the floor in pieces. Out of nowhere, James produces another gun, handing it to Logan without a word. Logan fumbles with it, staring at it in disgust, his mind in overdrive as he grips it in the same fashion as James. He doesn’t think he can do this, doesn’t even want to be handling the damn thing, but he has no choice, not with the way the wood of the door is starting to break off in bigger pieces, a hole now visible.

From what Logan can see, there’s a rather large group of those things just outside the door and they’re quickly busting their way in. He tries to ignore the way their limbs are cracking and breaking every time they hit the door.

“This has never happened, I don’t understand. What the fuck,” James spits, finger hovering over the trigger.

Logan has the sudden urge to know more, wants to know how long James has been battling these things out here on his own, but he decides now isn’t the best time, especially since the hole is bigger now, the flock fighting to fit their way through. He hears James take a large breath and then there’s the sound of the gun going off, a stomach-churning growl following seconds later.

Apparently that was the wrong thing to do because once that one falls away, the rest flock in and all Logan hears is the sound of the gun and the growls that follow. The shooting suddenly ceases and Logan doesn’t understand; there are still a few trying to get in.

“Are you going to shoot or what? Y’know what, never mind. Just give me the damn gun.”

Logan hands it back to James without a second thought, backing away into a corner as James resumes shooting. It’s a few more minutes of shooting, Logan cowering away into the corner, and then it finally stops, James dropping his arm and sighing out in relief.

“Thanks for the help,” James says, scoffing, sarcasm dripping in his words.

Logan sputters for something to say, but James is already retreating, tucking both guns into the back of his jeans. He kind of feels like crying, the heaviness of the situation weighing down on him, crushing him like a ton of bricks. A choked off sob manages to escape and Logan’s barely able to contain it, collapsing to the floor and hugging his knees to his chest.

He has a million thoughts running through his mind, his mom’s shrill screams resounding in his head. He feels so lost, like he can’t do this; it’s all too much, and suddenly he starts thinking that maybe it’d be better if he let himself get infected because it’s inevitably going to happen. Why spend every day plagued with that constant fear?

James returns at that moment, his face softening into something akin to sympathy when he takes a glance at Logan, but it’s gone in an instant, replaced with the same ice cold look he’s had the entire night. He’s got an armful of wooden boards and he drops them to the floor in front of the door, disappearing once again and returning with a hammer and nails.

“Can you help?” he asks, gesturing to the door.

“Yeah,” Logan says softly, wiping his eyes and rising off the floor.

They get the door boarded up quick enough, and it’s then that it occurs to Logan that if the front door is boarded up, how are they going to get out? He asks James and James says, “There’s a door in the back we can use.”

Logan’s startled by the way James’ voice sounds, soft and mellow, comforting almost. It’s nothing like the way it sounds when he’s yelling or griping over something, and Logan wants to hear more of that, more of the relaxed tone.

James sighs, dropping the hammer and wiping his sweaty hands against his jeans. “Follow me,” he says, going through the doorway Logan’s seen him go through what seems like a dozen times already.

Logan follows, surprised by what he sees. The area is nothing like he would’ve imagined, compared to what the lobby looks like. It’s clear that it’s not what it’s supposed to look like, but Logan has to say James did a pretty decent job fixing it up.

The area is what Logan assumes used to be the dining room, an empty China cabinet against one of the walls, a small sliver of a windowpane visible. There’s no table or chairs, but there is a sofa, pushed against a different wall. There’s a backpack and two duffel bags, filled with what Logan assumes are James’ belongings. There’s also a sleeping bag on the floor in the middle of the room, a bunched up pillow laying beside it.

If there’s a sofa, why is James sleeping on the floor, Logan wonders, but he doesn’t ask.

“You’re welcome to the sofa, otherwise you can sleep on the floor. I don’t have any extra blankets or anything, though.” James sounds tired, visibly drained.

“The sofa’s fine, thanks,” Logan says quietly, making his way to it. There’s not even enough room on the floor for more than one person; James and his belongings take up most of the space, so Logan’s not entirely sure why James even offered it up.

“There’s also a shower upstairs, and there’s food in the kitchen, which is through that door,” James points to the door, “though there’s not much to eat. It’s something, at least.”

“Thanks,” Logan says again, curling up on the sofa and trying to get as comfortable as he possibly can.

“Yeah,” James says, tucking himself into the sleeping bag. “Well, goodnight.”

“‘Night,” Logan parrots, mentally cursing the sofa for being so damn uncomfortable. He stares up at the ceiling for what seems like hours, James humming quietly on the floor. It’s a sweet sound, Logan thinks, quiet and calming, and he focuses on it, letting it wash away the stress and lull him to sleep.

\--

The first night is rather uneventful, Logan sleeping fitfully, tossing and turning every time he wakes up from a nightmare. It takes him forever to get comfortable and what seems like hours before he's finally able to fall asleep again. It's the worst night's sleep he's ever had.

When he wakes up the next morning, James is walking into the room carrying a tray, a plate of toast and a mug of steaming coffee on top.

James offers it to Logan and Logan takes it with a quiet 'thanks', sitting up and balancing it on his lap. James disappears and returns again, another tray with coffee and toast for himself.

The coffee is too strong, no sugar or creamer, but Logan doesn't complain, hiding a grimace while he drinks it. The toast barely tickles his appetite, his stomach still growling when he finishes. He's still grateful for the small meal, not having eaten since the early lunch he had the day before.

He heads into the kitchen to put the tray back and the dishes into the sink, scanning his surroundings for anything else to eat.

Just as James had said, there really isn't much: a loaf of bread, a canister of coffee, cans of soup. Logan realizes this is all they have left unless they want to venture out and scavenge around for food.

He joins James back out in their makeshift bedroom, curling up on the sofa and staring at the wall. He can't deal with the silence much longer so he gets up, finally surveying the entire B&B.

Past the lobby is what looks to be a rec room of some sort, a Foosball table off to the side, Logan surprised it's still intact considering the television and sofas are scattered in pieces around the room. There's also a shelf of books, some thrown to the floor, others haphazardly strewn about the shelves. He loses track of time as he scans over the books, picking out an armful to read.

He hears James moving about so he heads back out, dropping the books on the sofa. He's quick to lose himself in a book, only looking up when James returns, hair wet and in a fresh pair of clothes.

Logan looks a little longer than he should, his eyes glued to the way James' shirt clings to the still damp skin of his back, his eyes roaming over the flush of James' skin from the warm water temperature, up to James' dark hair, the way it's almost black, the front plastered wetly to his forehead while the back is sticking up in every direction, and his gaze finally settles on James' jaw, on the dark of the stubble covering it. James turns towards him and Logan quickly averts his gaze, blushing, hoping James didn't catch him staring.

James’ eyes drift over him, but he quickly goes back to doing what he fills his time with, which isn’t much of anything - aside from pacing and muttering. He disappears a lot and always seems more agitated when he returns and it's unnerving to Logan who's trying to stay as calm as he can.

The lunch hour rolls by and before Logan knows it, James is offering him a bowl of some kind of soup. He eats it greedily, happy that he has some kind of sustenance in him.

"Thanks," Logan says, smiling politely.

James shrugs it off, tapping his spoon against the rim of the empty bowl.

"I uh - I can take that for you if you're done," Logan says, gesturing to the bowl.

James gives Logan a tight, forced smile as he hands over the bowl, his hands falling to his lap now that they're empty.

When Logan returns, he grabs his backpack and heads upstairs, intent on showering. The water is warm and relaxing and Logan stays in there until the water runs cold and his skin has gone pruney.

He changes into a fresh outfit and heads back downstairs, picking up the book and starting where he left off.

\--

They skip dinner that night even though both their stomachs are growling hungrily, doing their best to ration what food they have.

Logan’s stomach is growling too much for him to handle and he finds that he can’t focus on a single word he’s reading. He huffs and closes up the book, laying down on the sofa in an attempt to fall asleep.

He’s finally starting to drift off when he hears a loud whimpering, and his first thought is that they somehow managed to get James. He sits up on the sofa a little too quick, a wave of dizziness coming over him. The dizziness passes quickly and he looks around the room for James, letting out a sigh when he sees that James is sitting up on the floor, eyes glued to the empty China cabinet.

The whimpering gets louder before tapering off, replaced by the growls that plague Logan’s nightmares.

He looks to James, breathing heavy.

“Probably just an animal, go back to sleep,” James says, sounding tired.

Logan nods and lays back down, though he knows there’s no way he’ll be able to sleep, not after that.

\--

Days pass and things don’t change much. Logan continues making an effort to talk to James, but James more often than not shrugs off every attempt at conversation. After the first few times, Logan quits trying, folding in on himself on the sofa, running his hands over the photo of him and his parents or focusing on the stack of books beside him.

James catches him staring at the photo a few times but doesn’t say anything, quickly looking the other way when he sees the tears that are building in Logan’s eyes. He busies himself, cleaning and showering, cooking when he needs to and reloading the guns, anything to keep away from Logan and the constant look of sorrow on his face, trying to shut out the worry of his own family.

The atmosphere surrounding them is always tense and awkward, neither saying much, always worried about something bad - worse - happening.

They’re sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, picking at the bowl of soup James heated up when Logan asks, “H-hey, James? What uh, what are those things? I know the news called them The Infected or something, but what are they really?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” James bites back, making Logan recoil.

“Forget I asked,” Logan says quietly, rising off the sofa to dispose of his bowl.

“I uh - I guess they’re zombies or something? I really don’t know; no one’s been able to put a name to ‘em, not that there’s been any new information. Radio is mostly static now,” James offers, tone more gentle this time.

Logan swallows tightly and nods, disappearing through the doorway to the kitchen. Zombies. That’s something out of a movie, not real life. Yet, here they are, hiding away from these not quite human things. When did life turn into a science-fiction movie? Logan doesn’t know.

\--

When Logan wakes the next morning, it’s to a crick in his neck and James darting around, gathering his things and shoving them into a duffel bag.

Still half asleep, Logan asks, “s’goin’ on?”

“Shh,” James answers, harsh.

Listening a little closer, Logan hears static, intermittent bits of a voice coming through. He hears the words ‘safe’, ‘survivors’, ‘Los Angeles’, and then it cuts out, the hiss of static ongoing. He wants to cry, the sound of someone else’s voice so foreign, especially over the airwaves, and to know that thousands of miles away, there are other survivors, he wants to get to them as quickly as possible.

“Do you - do you want to come with? I heard more earlier; it wasn’t as staticky. There’s uh - there’s a safe house in L.A., there’s food and protection and it’s probably not much but it’s better than this, and there’s probably a bunch of other survivors, and I was planning on making my way out there anyway, so, yeah,” James trails off, finally standing in one place for longer than two seconds.

Logan sits up, rubbing at his eyes as he allows the words to sink in. Truthfully, James kind of terrifies him, the way his moods can be so extreme, but on the other hand, Logan doesn’t want to be alone, and if he doesn’t go with James, that’s what’s going to happen. He’ll be alone, again. He’s tired of being alone. “Yes, yeah. I’ll - I’ll go with you. To L.A.”

James acknowledges with a barely visible nod of his head and then he’s off, muttering under his breath and asking himself if they’re capable of this, if they’re capable of getting there unharmed. It’s about as out of his element as Logan’s ever seen James, and the nervousness running through James is quickly making its way to Logan.

Over the last few days, it seems as though those things - Logan refuses to call them zombies - have ventured into hiding during the day, the only times Logan ever hears them being at night when the sun has gone down and it’s nearly pitch black, the only light coming from the moon, streetlamps long since destroyed.

That’s one of the scarier things to Logan, leaving Minnesota, entering states he’s never been to, unsure of how bad things are everywhere else. What if there’s nowhere for them to stay? What if they get too tired and end up running off the road? Logan suddenly doesn’t think it’s a good idea for them to leave, but he won’t say it to James, afraid of the backlash James will surely give him, especially considering James already had plans to go to L.A.; for what, Logan doesn’t know, but he doesn’t want to get in the way of whatever the reason is.

Logan finally gets off the sofa, grabbing his backpack and moving to head upstairs to shower.

“No, no time for showers. We’re leaving now,” James says hurriedly, double checking everything he has.

Logan doesn’t dare argue, sighing tiredly. “Do you need help with anything?”

“All you have is your backpack, right?” James waits for Logan to nod before he continues. “Okay, you can take these,” he says, handing Logan two duffel bags that are stuffed to the max with what Logan assumes is clothes.

Does this guy not realize clothes really don’t matter right now, that their world is being ripped to shreds and clothes are the least important thing? Logan’s annoyed but takes them nonetheless, watching as James double checks the guns for ammo.

“Wait here ‘til I come back and get you,” James says, walking off down a hall Logan didn’t know existed.

He waits and waits, shifting his weight from foot to foot as the bags start feeling heavier the longer he carries them.

James returns and gestures for Logan to follow him, leading him down the hallway to a door that takes them outside. They walk around to the front of the B&B, a dark red splotch staining the pavement beneath a window, reminding Logan of the whimpering he heard the other night.

Logan’s dad’s car is parked right where he left it, a small crack in the windshield and a few dents here and there, but otherwise unharmed.

“Do you have the keys?” James asks, pointing toward the car.

“Uh, yeah,” Logan says, setting the duffel bags on the ground to remove his backpack, digging through it for the car keys.

James yanks the keys roughly from Logan’s hand, finding the key to the trunk as he walks up to it. He pops it open, signaling for Logan to put their bags inside.

Once the trunk is loaded up, James shuts it and walks around to the driver’s side door, unlocking it and climbing in. Logan stands stock still at the back of the car, staring incredulously as James gets himself settled in. This is his dad’s car; he should be the one driving, not James.

“Come on,” James groans, opening the car door to stick his head out and call out to Logan.

“You’re not driving,” Logan says through gritted teeth. “This is my dad’s car and I’m the only one that’s gonna be driving it.”

“Can you drive and read a map at the same time? ‘Cause if you can, then be my guest; I can’t read a map for shit.”

Logan swears under his breath, holding back the urge to stomp his foot like a child. He doesn’t understand how James can shoot a fucking gun but can’t read a goddamn map, and he hates the idea of James driving, but he doesn’t want to end up in fucking Georgia or some other state that’s not on their way to L.A., so he relents with a scowl on his face as he gets into the passenger seat.

James starts the car and pulls out onto the street, maneuvering through abandoned cars with ease. Every street he turns onto is unfamiliar to Logan, but they all look the same, abandoned houses and cars and businesses on all sides.

They pull into the parking lot of a rundown store, the glass fronts shattered. “We’re gonna need water and food and whatever we can find that can be used as weapons,” James says before Logan can ask what they’re doing there.

Logan nods and unbuckles his seatbelt, looking down in disgust as James once again hands him a gun. It’s an unpleasant weight in his hand, but he holds it the exact way James is holding his own, following James’ movements as they get out of the car.

The automatic sliding doors are stuck open and James enters first, holding his gun out in front of him as his eyes dart back and forth quickly, checking their surroundings.

“Okay, let’s go,” he says to Logan, motioning for him to come inside. Logan grabs a shopping cart, handing the stupid gun back to James, and then James is moving in front of him, gun still poised to shoot. They walk through the aisles, most of the shelves already bare, grabbing what they can, which really isn’t much: a few boxes of granola bars and pop-tarts, cans of soup that they’ll have to eat cold, and fruit cups, nothing that’ll really stave off the hunger.

As they turn into the next aisle, Logan stops and lets out a shrill scream, holding onto the cart to keep himself upright even though he wants to crumple to the floor.

There, in the middle of the aisle, lays a body, throat ripped out, arms and legs ripped to shreds, a pool of blood drying around it.

“Right, okay. We don’t need anything in this aisle,” James says gruffly, grabbing the cart and turning it to face the other direction.

Logan feels a little more than sick, stomach churning at the idea of eating anything that sits in the cart. He doesn’t think he’ll ever recover from that, certain it’ll haunt his dreams for the rest of his life.

James leads them over to the beverages, bending down to grab a case of water, surprised there’s even some left. It’s then that Logan notices the flex of muscle in James’ arms, his eyes lingering as they bulk out from the weight James is carrying.

Logan quickly diverts his attention elsewhere when James finishes setting the second case into the cart, though he’s sure James notices the way his face is flushed pink. When James doesn’t say anything - not that Logan expected him to - they keep moving through the store, looking for anything that can be used as a weapon.

There’s not much aside from small gardening tools and children’s plastic baseball bats, and James nearly punches over the half-empty shelf in frustration. He does manage to find a few gas cans, snatching them up and throwing them into the cart with more force than necessary, making Logan wince at the sound of plastic clanging against metal.

“Maps. We need maps,” Logan says suddenly, quickly running off to grab the maps he’ll need before returning to the cart.

They double back to the beverages, James grabbing a case of soda and sliding it beneath the cart.

“Alright, that’s everything,” James says, jerking Logan’s attention to him.

Logan’s flushing pink again, his gaze having been focused on the way James’ shirt stretches tight across his back. “O-okay,” he stutters, following James to the front of the store and out the doors.

There isn’t a bag to put the food in, so James dumps it over the backseat of the car, rolling his eyes when Logan huffs at his actions. He puts a case of water in the trunk and the other in the backseat, along with the case of soda, immediately ripping open the cardboard and grabbing one, gulping it down faster than Logan’s ever seen anyone before.

The gas cans get put in the trunk with everything else, though James vehemently protests, saying they will not be in there near his clothes once they’re filled. It’s times like these where Logan wishes he could be a violent person because he would be punching James repeatedly, telling him to forget about his goddamn clothes because the gas to get them to L.A. is a hell of a lot more important.

Since he’s not, Logan bites his tongue and climbs back into the passenger seat, searching through the bunch of maps he grabbed until he comes across a large enough map of the U.S. that he can use to map out the route to California. He trails the tip of his finger along the map, tracing the lines of the highways that lead from Minnesota to California as James starts the car and turns out of the parking lot.

They drive for a few minutes and then they’re stopping again, pulling into a gas station. James fuels the car, griping about the smell of gasoline and how it’s going to linger on his clothes while Logan grabs the gas cans from the trunk, moving to a different pump to fill them.

This is stealing, his brain tells him. Everything they’re taking is stealing and it quickly catches up to him, makes something bitter and disgusting race through him. He pushes it out of his mind, thinks about the other survivors across the country and focuses on that, tells himself that they need to do this because it’s the only way they’ll survive. It helps him breathe a little easier as he finishes filling the gas cans and sets them back in the trunk, putting enough distance between them and James’ duffel bags.

James gets them back on the road, driving through the town in search of something. They hit the highway and James pounds his fist against the steering wheel, not having found what he was looking for.

His outburst causes Logan to flinch and lose the calculations he was working on.

“Can you not do that? This isn’t your car. Try to be a little more respectful,” Logan spits, turning his attention back to the map.

“Whatever,” James mutters. “Fuck this stupid town for not having a goddamn arms store.”

Logan doesn’t pay attention to James, instead recalculating the mileage and amount of time it’ll take them to get to L.A.

“So,” he starts, still looking at the map, “Los Angeles is approximately 2000 miles from here. With the amount of daylight we have to work with, we’ll be able to drive for 8 or 9 hours, and we should be able to cover around five hundred to six hundred miles in that time. With those calculations, it’ll take a little more than three days to get there.”

James whistles, a long, high-pitched sound. “Did you do that all in your head?”

“I - uh - yeah. I like math,” Logan says, shrugging. “Oh, and that’s not including the times we’ll have to stop for fuel and such,” he adds on.

“Alright,” James says, and Logan can hear the way James is trying not to laugh. Whatever. It’s not his fault he’s good at math, and if James wants to laugh at him for that, so be it. It’s not like he’s not used to being called a nerd.

Logan shakes his head, turning his attention to the highway signs. “There, take that exit. That’ll take us to the Interstate we need to be on.”

James jerks the wheel, veering across the three-lane highway to get to the exit. Logan bites his tongue to keep from yelling at James, instead reclining in his seat as James picks up speed, coasting along the deserted highway.

Miles and miles of barren land pass by, the only sound the hum of the engine and James tapping his fingers against the steering wheel.

The drive goes smooth until they’re almost midway through Iowa, just outside of Des Moines. The highway is nearly blocked off, abandoned and upturned cars everywhere. James slams on the brakes causing Logan to lurch forward, the seatbelt locking tight across his chest. It’s almost an automatic reaction for James, his right arm flying out in front of Logan to keep him from hitting his head against the dashboard.

“Holy shit,” James says, breathless.

“You - you’re gonna have to drive on the shoulder to get around them,” Logan says, his voice trembling.

Instead of the snarky comment Logan’s expecting, James nods, a quick succession of jerky movements as his hands move to 10 and 2 on the steering wheel. He presses down on the gas pedal, driving slow and cautious as he veers off the road, gravel crunching beneath the tires as he passes the stretch of blocked highway.

When he gets back on the highway, James drives a little slower, a little more cautious, wary of what lies ahead.

**Part Two**

“We have maybe an hour or so before the sun sets,” Logan says, looking out the window before fixing his gaze on the dashboard clock.

“I think we should keep driving,” James says, tone defiant.

“I don’t think we should. We have no idea what other cities are like,” Logan counters.

“Exactly. That’s why we should keep driving.”

“No. I’m not going to take the risk of you falling asleep behind the wheel. We’re stopping in the next city that comes up.”

“We can pull over here and you can drive, then,” James suggests, not backing down.

“Yes, because I can totally read the fucking map and drive at the same time, at night,” Logan says with a roll of his eyes.

“Fine, whatever. We’ll stop in the next city. Car needs to be gassed up, anyway,” James finally relents, too tired to continue arguing.

After driving a few more miles, a sign for the next city appears. James prepares to take the next exit that comes up, but there’s a blockade of cars cutting off access to it. He keeps driving until another exit pops up and he takes that one, slowing down as he tries to decide what way he should turn.

“Just go that way,” Logan says, pointing to the left.

Just to spite him, James turns right, a smirk of satisfaction playing at his lips when he hears Logan curse under his breath.

They drive barely a mile before a motel pops up and James quickly turns in, parking as close to the office as he can. He leaves the car idling as he gets out, says, “Stay here,” before grabbing a gun and closing the car door.

Logan watches him closely, following every movement James makes. It’s kind of terrifying to Logan how James handles a gun so well, like it’s natural for him, but he’s kind of grateful, too; he feels a little safer knowing James has them protected.

The minutes tick by before James reappears, the metal of a key glinting in the light from the headlights. He gets back into the car, putting it in reverse and backing out, only to drive a few yards before pulling into a stall and parking.

“Fill the gas tank while I check the room,” James says, but it comes across as more of an order.

James is already grabbing a duffel bag out of the trunk when Logan gets to it, and Logan doesn’t spare him a second glance as he grabs a gas can, rounding back to where the gas tank is. He hates how long it takes to get it filled, hates being outside alone. He finally gets it filled and he can’t move fast enough, tossing the empty gas cans into the trunk and grabbing his backpack, darting to the motel room James is in.

The room looks a little tore up, but nothing too serious. Nothing is broken, but the blankets from the beds are thrown on the floor, a tacky framed photo of a fruit bowl is lying on the floor, and a wooden table that has seen better days is upturned.

Logan couldn’t be more excited about there being two beds, up until he sees that James has already claimed the bed furthest from the door. It doesn’t make sense to him because James is the one with the damn guns; he should have to sleep closer to the door. Whatever. Beggars can’t be choosers, Logan decides, setting his backpack on the bed.

“There’s no hot water,” James says, emerging from the bathroom, towel slung around his neck.

Whatever Logan was going to say dies on his lips, his eyes glued to the planes of James’ stomach. There’s no doubt about it: James has one hell of a body, every visible inch tan, chiseled, and well-defined.

Logan snaps out of it, grabbing his backpack without a word, nearly knocking James over in his haste to get to the bathroom. He splashes cold water on his face, pulling roughly at his hair to get the images of James all shirtless and muscular out of his head. He busies himself by stripping off his wet shirt and grabbing a different one out of his backpack, the picture of him and his parents falling out.

That snaps him out of his stupor and it’s all he can do not to fall to the floor and clutch the picture tightly in his hands. He picks it up, glossing the tips of his fingers over the glass before tucking it back into his backpack along with his shirt.

James is already curled up in bed by the time Logan emerges, so he follows suit, setting his backpack down beside his bed and then picking up the blankets, tossing them on top of the bed. He slides in under them, only then realizing that he hasn’t eaten in over 24 hours. It’s not important now, not when he’s in an actual bed, sleep quickly overtaking him.

\--

There’s a thudding sound, and it gets louder and louder the more Logan tries to ignore it. He cracks open an eye and sees nothing but darkness, so he closes it, pulling the blanket up and over his head.

An increasingly louder thump hits the door and Logan jerks upright, fumbling for the lamp on the nightstand between the two beds.

“Turn off the light,” James grumbles, throwing an arm over his eyes to shield them from the light.

“James, get up,” Logan says, panicking.

“M’sleeping,” James mutters.

“No, James, you’ve gotta-”

Logan gets cut off by another thump, and this time James bolts up out of bed, reaching for a gun, suddenly wide awake.

“Get behind me,” he says, poised to shoot.

The glass of the window shatters and Logan cowers back, hiding himself in a corner. A head pops in through the window, shoving the curtain out of the way. Logan’s frightful yelp is automatic and James shushes him immediately, shooting the thing in the head without a second thought. It slumps over the windowpane, a shade of gray liquid dripping out of its head onto the floor.

“We have to get out of here,” James says, tone urgent. “Grab my bag and your backpack.”

Logan moves away from the wall, grabbing their stuff as James steps into his boots and laces them up. He waits for James’ next move, following behind as James goes to the door, opening it a crack.

The light from the moon is just enough for James to glance around, seeing nothing in their immediate vicinity.

“Let’s go,” James says, opening the door wider. They make a run for it, throwing themselves into the car, Logan tossing their bags to the back. James quickly starts the car, a startled gasp leaving his lips as the lights turn on. Those things - zombies, his mind supplies - are all over the place, the sound of the engine starting alerting them to their presence.

He puts the car into reverse and backs up, quickly putting it into drive and peeling the fuck out of the parking lot, gripping the steering wheel tight as they zoom down the road.

Everywhere Logan turns his head, there are more and more popping out of nowhere, trailing sluggishly in an attempt to catch up to the car.

“I told you we should’ve kept driving,” James says, eyes never leaving the road.

“Yeah, well, we’re driving now,” Logan retaliates, barely any heat behind it.

“So, what do we do now?” James asks.

“Either find somewhere else to sleep or keep driving.”

James chooses the former, keeping his eyes peeled for somewhere they can pull in to sleep. He finally finds somewhere that looks suitable, pulling in and parking the car. He shuts off the engine and reclines his seat, trying to get comfortable.

“What are you doing?” Logan asks, looking at him in confusion.

“Going to sleep,” James says simply.

“Oh,” Logan responds, feeling a little embarrassed at the stupid question. His eyes feel heavy and he’s fighting to keep them open, so he copies James, reclining his seat and trying to get comfortable.

It’s a good thing he’s so tired because it doesn’t give him much time to dwell on how absolutely uncomfortable the seat is or how dangerous it is for them to be sleeping in the damn car, his eyes falling shut almost immediately.

\--

The sun is already filtering through the car windows by the time Logan wakes, James still slumbering in the driver’s seat next to him. He twists around in his seat, reaching back under James’ duffel bag for a box of granola bars. He eats two without a second thought, leaving the box up front with him when he finishes.

He feels safe enough with the sunlight beaming down, so he exits the car, walking over to a secluded area to relieve his bladder. While he zips up, he reminds himself to grab hand sanitizer next time they stop at a store, wiping his hands on his jeans.

James starts waking up when he gets back into the car, so he doesn’t even try to be quiet when he shuts the door.

“Do you have to be so loud?” James asks. “Wait, where were you?”

“I uh - I had to pee,” Logan says bluntly, though he blushes while he says it.

James rubs his eyes sleepily, returning the seat to an upright position. Logan offers him the box of granola bars and James accepts it with a tired smile, tearing one open and eating it in two bites. He turns to the backseat to grab a can of soda, popping open the tab and taking a large gulp. He sets it in the cup holder before opening the car door, stepping out and peeing right where he stands, his back to Logan.

“Couldn’t you have done that somewhere else?” Logan asks when James gets back into the car.

“I could’ve,” James says, “but I didn’t.”

Smartass.

“We’re gonna have to find somewhere that has ammo. I’m almost out,” James says, eyeing his gun that’s sitting in the cup holder next to his soda.

“Alright. Let’s go, then.”

James starts the car and gets back on the road, turning onto whatever street he thinks will take them to a store. He ends up going around in a circle before he realizes it, and then changes direction when he does.

They end up in front of a Wal-Mart, and James pulls in, parking right up front.

“Maybe they’ll have something here,” he says, hopeful.

“It’s worth a shot,” Logan says, climbing out of the car.

As it turns out, they don’t have anything, but Logan manages to snag a few changes of clothes, along with a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and hand sanitizer. They also manage to find more food, things like crackers and bags of chips. In this moment, Logan realizes that even a city with a proper warning didn’t stand a chance of survival and it makes something grossly unpleasant churn in the pit of his stomach.

James grabs two baseball bats, some golf clubs, and a toothbrush, figuring he’ll just steal some of Logan’s toothpaste. He makes a stop in the entertainment department, rifling through the CD’s until he finds a few that he has - had - in his collection back at home.

“Golf clubs? Really?” Logan asks, shaking his head.

“Yeah, well. You don’t want to shoot a gun, so you get baseball bats and golf clubs.”

“Works for me,” Logan says, shrugging.

They grab a bag for the food, tossing it all inside, and another for their hygiene products. Logan grabs another backpack, filling it with his new clothes.

When they get back out to the car, they put James’ duffel bag and Logan’s backpack back into the trunk, adding the rest of the food into the bag they just retrieved. The golf clubs and baseball bats get put on the floor in the back of the car, making it easy if for any reason they’ll need them - which Logan desperately hopes they won’t.

Logan pulls out the map, looking over their itinerary for the day. “If we get back on the road now, we should be able to make it to Denver, or at least somewhere close.”

“I need a shower,” James says, completely ignoring what Logan just said.

“Didn’t you shower last night?”

“No. The water was way too cold.”

“I uh - I guess we could stop somewhere to shower,” Logan says, even though he’s pretty sure nowhere even has hot water now. He’ll let James find that out for himself, though.

“Let’s get moving, then,” James says, sounding chipper at the prospect of a shower.

It’s moments like this, moments where James is actually calm that scare Logan. He actually finds himself enjoying James’ company, enjoying it a little too much if the flutter of his heart is anything to go by. It gets worse when James pops in one of the CD’s he grabbed, singing along quietly. His voice is smooth and it puts Logan at ease, makes Logan wonder how different things would be if they had met under different circumstances.

The car rolls to a stop, jerking Logan from his thoughts. He looks around, sees nothing but houses lining the street.

“What are we doing here?” he asks, confused.

“Pretty sure these houses are all deserted. I figured we could just pick one and shower quick,” James replies, turning off the engine. He grabs the bag with their toiletries, then exits the car, opening the trunk and slinging his duffel bag over his shoulder. He waits at the curb for Logan, heading up the walkway of the house they’re in front of when Logan steps out, his new backpack held in his hand.

When Logan makes it up the walkway, James is just over the threshold, standing stock still.

“Dude, move,” Logan says, trying to make his way around James.

“Don’t,” James says, holding out an arm to block Logan from getting around.

“What? Why?”

“Just don’t. Let’s go to the next house,” James tries, but Logan’s ducking under his arm, paying no attention to James’ warning.

He instantly wishes he would’ve listened to James because the scene before him makes the scene at Wal-Mart look like nothing. There on the floor lies a small child, limbs mangled, a dried trail of blood leaking from her lips, tiny pink bows tied in her blood-soaked hair.

“No,” Logan says shakily. “She’s - that’s - she’s so little.”

It’s a disgusting reminder that no one is safe from the vicious and savage attacks, and suddenly it morphs from a child he doesn’t know to his best friend’s little sister, and he’s struggling to take a breath.

James grabs Logan by the shoulders, walking him backwards and out of the house. He barely gets him out the door before Logan is falling to the ground, backpack beside him, rocking back and forth on his knees. James doesn’t know what to do, standing there awkwardly, feeling his heart start to crack at the way Logan’s falling apart in front of his eyes. He crouches down next to Logan, touch tentative as he rubs a gentle hand up and down Logan’s back, hoping that it’s soothing.

That only sets Logan off more, these heart-wrenching sobs coming from him that render James motionless. He feels awkward and out of place, no good at this comforting thing.

“I - I can’t. James, I can’t do this anymore, I can’t,” Logan cries, deep shuddery breaths between each word.

“Yes, you can. We’re gonna get to Los Angeles and we’re gonna be okay,” James says in the most comforting tone he can muster.

Logan shakes his head, furiously wiping the tears from his face as they continue to trickle down.

James tries for an awkward one-arm hug, surprised when Logan launches himself into his arms, fisting the fabric of his t-shirt as he cries harder. James pats his back gently, breathing deep to calm his nerves as Logan continues to cry himself hoarse.

“We’re gonna be fine, Logan,” James says.

Logan sniffles, pulling back to look up at James. “Y-you know my name?” He knows it’s the wrong thing to say, especially since James was clearly doing his damnedest to comfort him, but it’s the only thing that comes to mind, aside from the haunting images permanently ingrained in his head.

“Why wouldn’t I?” James asks, confused.

“I just - I didn’t think you were paying attention when I told you,” Logan admits, embarrassment washing over him.

James shrugs, pulling back from Logan and standing up. “I was listening.”

“Sorry,” Logan says softly.

James shrugs again, says, “C’mon, let’s go check out the next house.”

Logan feels like an asshole now, hates that he’s made James instantly revert to the callous manner he’s been carrying himself with since they met.

He wipes his tears one last time and stands up, adjusting his grip on his backpack as he follows James into the next house.

\--

Logan’s just finished brushing his teeth, the bathroom door opened a crack when James speeds by, shouting triumphantly about finding another gun. Logan knows he should be happy, but his only thought is, ‘great, another gun,’ still not comfortable with the two James already has. They keep him safe; they’ve saved his life a few times already, but he just can’t get used to them.

Then his thoughts start straying to how he can’t believe James is actually rifling through the house, taking whatever he sees fit. It’s pretty damn unsettling, even if the occupants of said house no longer exist.

“Dammit,” James curses loudly from somewhere in the house, causing Logan to drop his toothbrush into the sink. He gets his stuff together quickly and turns off the light, searching through the house for James.

James is standing in the living room, staring down at the gun in his hand. “How is there going to be a gun, but no bullets? What sense does that make?”

“I dunno,” Logan says, uninterested.

James takes the gun anyway, tucking it in the front of his jeans, Logan looking away with a faint blush at the sliver of tan skin peeking out when James lifts his shirt. James’ eyes dart around the room, a small ‘aha’ coming from him as he bends down to pull out a phonebook.

“What are you looking for?”

“Arms store,” James says, rapidly flipping through the thin pages of the phonebook.

Logan watches and waits, and then there’s the sound of a page being torn out, James holding it in his hand and grinning as he says, “Found one.”

‘Great,’ Logan thinks, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

James tears out another page, a street map, holding it out for Logan to grab. He rattles off the address and Logan finds it easily, his only problem being that he has no idea what street they’re on now.

“Okay, well, I’m sure there’s a street sign out there, so we can just go look at that and then you’ll be able to get us there, right?”

“Yeah,” Logan says with a sigh, gripping the strap of his backpack and following James out the door to the car.

\--

The arms store ends up being not far from where they are, and Logan’s able to direct James there with ease, though James has to slam on the brakes a few times to avoid missing a turn because he wasn’t paying enough attention, Logan almost certain he can feel the onset of whiplash at James’ ridiculous driving.

It’s almost disconcerting to Logan how positively thrilled James looks when they pull up to the arms store. It looks a little tore up like every other place, but when they get inside, they’re surprised to see it’s actually not in disarray like all the places they’ve been.

James moves quick, grabbing what he needs at marveling at the assortment in glass cases. “You need to pick one,” he says to Logan, gesturing to the case he’s standing near.

“I - no. I’ve got the baseball bats; that’s good enough for me, remember,” Logan says, hoping James will let it go.

James doesn’t let it go, says, “No, that’s not good enough. If things keep going the way they are, if we keep running into what we saw at that house, at the motel, those won’t be good enough to protect you. I’m not gonna keep saving your ass,” the words coming out harsher than James intended.

“I don’t need you to save me. If it’s that much of a fucking hardship for you, just let them get me, alright?” Anger is quickly coursing through Logan’s veins, and he hates that they’re back to this, back at square one after all the progress they’ve been making.

Neither of them say anything and the minutes continue to tick pass, Logan staring down at the floor like it’s suddenly the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. He feels a little embarrassed, a little angry; he hates feeling like he’s such a burden to James, that James is his fucking babysitter who’d rather be anywhere else. James is all he has now and it’s like James doesn’t even want him around, like it’s too much work to protect him.

“Logan,” James says, soft, almost like an apology.

Logan can’t take the arguing, not if they’re going to be together on the road for awhile yet. He doesn’t want this awkward and tense atmosphere constantly hanging over them. He just wants to be able to enjoy the company of the only other living person he knows.

He knows he shouldn’t give in, shouldn’t break so easily, but the way James says his name, he can’t help but give in, asking James what he thinks would be best. The smile James gives him in return makes his palms sweat, makes his stomach feel all weird and fluttery.

“I don’t - I don’t know how to shoot,” Logan admits sheepishly, shoulders bunched defensively.

“Yeah, I figured,” James says, but there’s no malice behind it. “I guess I can teach you.”

Fully stocked with everything they need, they head back outside, James pulling Logan out into the street. He demonstrates the stance and how Logan should hold the gun, but Logan's tense, joints locked in all the wrong places.

"No, you're -" James drops his stance and tucks his gun into the back of his jeans, walking to stand behind Logan. His hands are tentative as he places them at Logan's hips, tapping Logan's left side as he says, "Step to the side with this leg. You need a wider stance."

Logan gulps, nervous, his heart beating hard in his chest. He does what James says, and James murmurs a quiet 'good' from behind him.

Logan expects James to back up, but then James is plastering himself along Logan's back as he tells Logan to bring his arms up, his own arms reaching out and hovering over Logan's hands.

“One hand here, and your other arm, bent at an angle and that hand here,” James says, but none of it registers. All Logan can concentrate on is the way James is all solid heat behind him, hands soft where they're touching his. The rasp of James' voice in his ear and the warmth of his breath tickles the back of Logan's neck, makes him shiver involuntarily, desperately hoping James doesn't notice it.

James' hands are like fire burning into his skin and it's too much; Logan accidentally pulls the trigger, arms jerking with the force and knocking him off balance.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Logan apologizes, James' warmth gone instantly.

"It's alright, just try again," James says, voice soft and gentle, but he won't meet Logan's eye, a slight coloring to his cheeks.

Logan tries to replicate the stance and hold, only to find he can't; he doesn't remember any of it, only James' touch. He wings it, taking a guess at it all, pulling the trigger when he feels ready.

"Not bad," James says, then points at a sign in front of them. "Try hitting that sign."

Logan takes a breath, adjusts his stance a fraction, and then he aims and shoots, the sound of metal clinging ringing through the air a second later.

James gives him a handful of targets to shoot at, and Logan hits them all, mouth agape at his apparent innate ability to shoot accurately.

"You sure you've never done this for? You're a damn good shot," James says, heavily impressed.

Logan smiles big and wide at the tone of approval.

"Okay, now that you can handle a gun, we need to get back on the road. We've spent a lot longer on all this than we had planned for."

And just like that, like a flip being switched, the hard edge is back, James climbing into the car without sparing a second glance toward Logan.

\--

The sun is just beginning its descent when they make it halfway across Nebraska, set back hundreds of miles from their numerous stops during the day. James pulls into an abandoned parking lot, parking the car as far out of view as he can.

"What are you doing?" Logan asks, looking around.

"We're staying here tonight, that alright with you?"

No, Logan thinks. He doesn't want to sleep in the damn car again; his ass is still numb no matter how many times he changes position, too much time spent sitting on the uncomfortable leather seats. "I guess," he says, not wanting to argue.

They settle in, eating and drinking what they can, momentarily exiting the car to relieve themselves once they're done.

"Right, okay. Goodnight," James says, turning to face the door.

"Goodnight," Logan parrots, staring up at the roof of the car. He hears the way James shifts about a hundred times, and then it changes to quiet, steadying breathing as James drifts off to sleep.

Logan feels so restless, crossing and uncrossing his legs, folding and unfolding his hands, tucking them behind his head. No matter what way he moves, he can't seem to get comfortable. He tries focusing on the steady breaths James is emitting, but that makes him even more restless, reminding him of the way James' breath felt warm against the back of his neck.

It makes him hot, makes his blood rush through him, and he shakes his head with a groan to rid himself of the thought. The sound causes James to shift and Logan quickly slaps a hand over his mouth, dropping it once he's sure James is still asleep.

He turns his back towards James, staring at the door handle until his eyes fall shut.

\--

It feels like barely any time has passed when Logan wakes up, and at first he's unsure why he's even awake, up until he hears the heavy breathing beside him. He turns his attention to James, startled by the sudden gasp that leaves James' lips.

"Cam, no, please," James cries out, head whipping back and forth in anguish.

Logan doesn't know what to do, sitting there helpless as James is tormented by a nightmare.

"Cam!" James screams, followed by a sob.

Logan's hand reaches out to touch and his fingers are hovering over James' shoulder when a low growl makes him jerk his hand back. For a moment he thinks it came from James, but a quick glance out the window shows it's not James, a pack of zombies slowly making their way towards the car.

It's then that James lets out another sob, followed by another growl. Logan acts quickly, roughly pushing at James' shoulder until James bolts upright, gasping sharply for a full breath.

“J-James, we need to – we have to go,” Logan says, voice trembling.

James doesn’t seem to hear him, still trying to catch his breath as his hands scrub over his face, secretly trying to wipe the tears Logan knows are there.

“James, come on,” Logan says, head turning from side to side to gauge how far away the zombies are. They’re still a reasonable distance away, but it’s too close for Logan’s comfort.

“What?” James says sharply, turning to look out the window where Logan’s pointing. He curses loudly, turning the key in the ignition, quickly shifting into drive. He presses the gas pedal all the way down, the sound of rubber burning echoing in the night as the car speeds forward, the nauseating sound of bone crunching beneath the tires.

James’ entire body is shaking, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight in an attempt to calm himself. He flinches away when Logan reaches out a hand to comfort him, keeping his eyes trained on the road in front of him.

“We’re uh – we’re gonna drive all night,” he says, watching Logan out of his peripheral vision.

Logan doesn’t argue, instead settling in and pulling out the map again, pinpointing the general area they’re in so he can give James directions.

They’ve barely driven a few miles before James is cursing again, telling Logan to buckle up as he does the same, and then he’s flooring it again, driving through the throng of zombies in front of them. The city they’re in seems to be overrun with zombies, packs of them almost everywhere they turn.

It’s a relief to hit the highway, James dropping the speed when he deems it safe enough.

"It seems as though it gets worse the further west we go," Logan says, and if to prove that point, James has to swerve to narrowly avoid hitting an overturned car, the engine still smoking, remains spattered over the blacktop.

"I hope you're wrong," James says, jaw tight.

"Are we going to find somewhere else to stay?" Logan asks, trying to get comfortable.

"No. I figure we'll drive until the sun comes up and then we can stop to fill up on gas and eat and whatever else we need to do," James replies, fighting back a yawn.

It doesn't go unnoticed by Logan, who asks, "You sure you're okay to drive ‘til then?"

"M'fine," James says, yawning again.

Logan rolls his eyes and reaches over, turning the volume up, the sounds of some unknown band filling the car. It seems to wake James slightly; he drums his fingers against the steering wheel, mouthing the words silently to himself.

Logan reaches back, grabs two cans of soda and offers one to James, keeping one for himself. James takes it with a smile, using his knees to keep the steering wheel straight as he pops open the top, swallowing down a huge gulp.

“So, how much road do you think we’ll cover today?” James asks.

“Um, we’ll probably be able to knock out a huge chunk,” Logan says, scrabbling for the map that fell to the floor.

“Cool,” James says, setting the cruise control before taking his foot away from the gas pedal and rearranging his legs into a more comfortable position.

They’re not on the road long before the sun starts to rise, and when it’s full in the sky, they turn off into the next town they come across, stopping at the gas station a few blocks down from the exit. James fills the car again while Logan fills the gas cans, and it seems to go quicker this time, both climbing back in the car once they get the gas cans back into the trunk, James complaining about the smell of gasoline again.

You still smell good, Logan thinks, because James really does, even through the scent of gasoline.

Just as James is about to put the car in gear, Logan says, “Wait, I have to use the bathroom,” pushing open the car door and running inside. He returns moments later, looking a little embarrassed as he climbs back in. “Okay, we’re good to go,” he says, pulling the seatbelt over him.

“Did you want to eat before we hit the road?” James asks, hand rested on the gear shifter.

“I could eat,” Logan says, already turning to the backseat to grab something. He rifles through the bag and comes up with a box of pop-tarts and a package of fruit cups. He hands the fruit cups to James and keeps the pop-tarts for himself, opening the box and grabbing a foil-wrapped pack before handing it to James, receiving the fruit cups in return.

Logan tries to eat, but he’s distracted by the way James’ lips seal around the rim of the plastic cup, the way James’ tongue darts out and curls around a piece of diced fruit to bring it into his mouth. He’s pretty sure James catches him staring and it only makes him flush deeper, quickly tearing into the pop-tarts to give himself something to do, other than stare at James and his stupid mouth.

“Water?” James asks, offering a bottle to Logan.

“Uh, sure, thanks,” Logan says, offering a tight-lipped smile.

Watching James drink out of the bottle of water is even worse than the damn fruit cup, his eyes stuck fixated on the way James’ throat works as he swallows, the way his Adam’s apple bobs, and Logan can’t take it anymore. He unbuckles his seatbelt and grabs all the garbage, quickly opening his door and bolting out. There’s a garbage can between the gas pump they’re parked at and the one in front of them, but Logan walks to the one furthest away, needing those few extra seconds to clear his head.

When he gets back into the car, James is looking at him with concern as he asks, “You okay?”

“Yeah, m’fine. Stomach just felt a little weird, that’s all,” Logan lies.

“Ah, okay,” James says, then, “alright, let’s get going.”

Finally, after the numerous distractions, James pulls away from the gas station and back out onto the street, following the signs for the highway Logan tells him they need. Mile marker after mile marker flies by, but there’s still so much mileage they have to cover.

After an hour of being back on the road, James starts yawning and his eyes look a little heavy, each blink lasting longer than the previous. Logan knew this whole driving all day thing wasn’t a smart idea, especially considering the amount of sleep they both got, and James’ nightmare.

“I’ve always wanted to be a doctor,” Logan says suddenly, earning a quirked eyebrow from James. “I uh - I was actually at the hospital with my dad when all this crap started happening.”

“A doctor, huh?”

“Yeah. I dunno, it’s always been fascinating to me, probably because my dad’s a doctor, and ever since I can remember, that’s what I’ve wanted to be.”

“Really? You never wanted to be anything else?” James asks, intrigued.

“Nope, just a doctor.”

“So, does that mean you played doctor a lot when you were a kid?” The way James asks the question, heavily laden with sexual undertones, has Logan instantly blushing.

“Wow, no. That’s - that’s perverted,” Logan says, still blushing.

“Chill, dude, I was kidding,” James says, smiling; an honest to god smile that has Logan damn near melting. “So uh - you said you were at the hospital when it started happening?” he asks, changing the subject.

“Yeah. It was this like, take your child to work kind of thing so I went with my dad, and everything was pretty normal, up until an ambulance pulled up and suddenly things got kind of crazy. My dad got this phone call and he looked worried and he made me leave, gave me the keys and told me to get home, that he’d be home later,” Logan explains, his voice going quiet and sad.

“I knew it had to be something bad because I don’t even have my license and why else would he give me the keys to the car? And when I got outside the hospital, it was just. It was bad. There were so many ambulances lined up, trying to get people into the hospital.

“I knew immediately something was terribly wrong, so I got into my dad’s car and I left for home. The streets - they were chaotic. There were cars everywhere and people, but they weren’t really people, zombies, I guess they already were and it was - it was terrifying.”

James is silent, his eyes darting from the road to Logan and back, listening intently.

“By the time I got home, everything was so much worse. My mom was watching the news and in that short time it took me to get home, the hospital was done for. And I just -”

“Tell me about your friends, like, the things you guys used to do when you were little,” James says, changing the subject again, trying to get that sad look off Logan’s face.

“Kendall and Carlos. They’d been my best friends since before I can remember. Carlos - he’s crazy; full of energy and always doing these crazy stunts. I’m surprised he never managed to seriously injure himself,” Logan says, smiling fondly at the memory of one of his best friends.

“Yeah, but I’m sure you would’ve been able to patch him up, right?” James asks, grinning.

“I almost always did every time he managed to hurt himself,” Logan says, recalling the numerous times Carlos ended up with a minor injury of some sort.

“And what about Kendall?”

Logan explains how he and Kendall first met, the one memory that stands out clearly amongst everything else, how Kendall and Carlos were the brothers he always wanted, how Kendall was this strong and stubborn leader who always looked out for both him and Carlos.

He tells James the story of when they were 8, playing hockey in the street and how Carlos hit the puck so hard it ended up flying into the neighbor’s window.

“You played hockey?” James asks, sounding a little amazed.

“Yeah, ice hockey, and street hockey by extension, I guess.”

“That’s cool; never pegged you for a sports kind of guy.”

“I’m not. I only played hockey because Kendall and Carlos wanted me to. Being a professional hockey player was always Kendall’s dream and I’m sure he would’ve made it to the big leagues. He was always the best on our team.”

“I’m sorry about your friends,” James says softly, smiling a little sadly, “and your parents,” he adds.

“Thanks,” Logan says in a whisper, “me too.”

They lapse into a silence, Logan stuck in his head with all the memories of him and his parents, of school, of his friends, of life before this happened. It all seems so far away, like it was months or even years ago when it’s barely been a week.. Time is a weird concept at this point; there’s too many hours, but still somehow not enough.

And this - this whole having an actual conversation with James about things that matter, about things that are really important, has Logan second-guessing everything he feels. Physically, he’s pretty damn sure he’s attracted to James. How could anyone not be? He’s all tan and tall, smooth skin and dazzling white smile, muscles flexing beneath his shirt every time he moves.

Emotionally, he knows James has a soft side; it slips out when he’s least expecting it and it makes him feel all these things - the butterflies in his stomach, the sweaty palms, the urge to blush and smile. He hates when it’s replaced by that hard edge, that tough badass exterior that he’s sure is just a front to mask what James is really feeling.

The circumstances they met under weren’t the greatest and Logan understands that. What he doesn’t understand is why James is the way he is, what happened before they met that turned him into what he is now. He wants to know, wants to know it all, wants to learn everything there is about James, but he’s not going to ask; he’ll let James tell him of his own accord, if he ever decides to.

Logan launches into another story, this time about the winter when he was 10, how he and Carlos and Kendall went sledding down this huge hill and almost ended up crashing into a tree because Carlos couldn't sit still and it kept shifting the weight and direction they were going.

"So, what happened?"

"Carlos fell off the sled. He ended up kicking Kendall in the head somehow while doing so," Logan says, still quite unsure how Carlos managed that.

"What about you?"

"Oh, I stayed in the sled. Made it all the way down to the bottom of the hill."

James shakes his head and laughs, and it's this warm and rich sound that has Logan looking at him with his jaw slack, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. It's smooth and melodious, and James' entire face is beautiful and calm, like nothing has happened and everything is okay and god, Logan wishes it was, if only to see and hear James like that all the time.

"Yeah, it was pretty awesome. Carlos kept apologizing to Kendall, but Kendall didn't want to hear it. Instead, he retaliated by tackling Carlos and shoving a whole bunch of snow down his shirt."

"Sounds like you had some pretty awesome friends," James says, sparing a quick glance at Logan, smiling.

"The best," Logan says, and they were. No one made him feel as safe and welcome as Kendall had, and no one would have ever been able to convince him to do half the crazy shit Carlos talked him into, and he's sure he'll never find something like that again.

It's quiet for a few minutes, and Logan glances at James, afraid James might have fallen asleep, only to find that he’s worrying at his bottom lip, opening and closing his mouth every few seconds like he wants to say something but doesn't quite know how. Logan sits and waits, turning his attention out the window, watching miles of woods turn to city limits that look like something out of a horror movie, and back. He's so focused on it, he almost misses when James says, "My sister - she's - she's in L.A."

Logan checks the map and their surroundings quick to make sure there are no upcoming exits that they'll need before setting the map to the side and turning in his seat, his back resting against the door as his full attention is on James.

"Camille. She's um, she's my twin sister. And she's an actress in L.A. Our dad is with her."

Camille. Cam. James' nightmare. It makes sense now why James looked so shaken and terrified.

“She’s barely been out there a few months, and then this shit had to go and happen,” James says, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “I just hope my dad was able to keep her safe,” he adds softly.

“Hey,” Logan says softly, “I’m sure they’re both okay.”

“You don’t know that,” James says fiercely, but it comes across sounding helpless and defeated.

“You’re right; I don’t. But you can’t stop hoping that they’re okay. You can’t give up.”

The way James looks, so open, so vulnerable, has Logan wishing he was driving so he could pull the car over and hug James tightly. Because this - he doesn’t know how to handle this. He’s not used to seeing James being the one in need of comforting, and James has been so strong, so unbreakable since the moment they met and Logan never wants to see James look like this. It damn near shatters his heart.

“I know, I know. I just - I wish there was something more I could do.”

Logan knows that feeling all too well. It’s the same way he felt when his dad made him leave the hospital, when his mom forced him into the basement. It’s not a good feeling at all, feeling so utterly useless.

“We’ll get there soon enough,” Logan says, and his hand itches to reach out and touch, to provide some kind of comfort, but he keeps his hands folded in his lap, instead offering James a somewhat comforting smile.

“Y’know, it was both of our dreams to be famous. She’s always wanted to be an actress. She has quite the flair for dramatics,” James says fondly. “Her trademark has always been slapping people, and shit, she slaps hard.”

Logan lets out a laugh at that, imagining a female version of James going around slapping people.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s funny until you’re on the receiving end of that slap.”

“Did you want to be an actor, too?” Logan asks.

“No. A popstar. Singing, dancing, that whole thing,” James says, waving his hand flippantly, the other comfortably gripping the steering wheel.

You’d be the best damn popstar I’ve ever seen, Logan thinks. James has the looks, the voice, the smile, everything. He’s the whole damn package, definite teen heartthrob material. “So why didn’t you go to L.A. with Camille?” he asks instead.

“I dunno. Camille was always destined to be a star; I didn’t want to take any of that away from her by being there,” James says, a tinge of regret in his words.

“Do you wish you would have gone?” Logan asks, not quite thinking, cringing when it’s out.

“Kind of. Cam has always been my best friend and it sucked when she left. Yes, I was kind of jealous that she was going to L.A., but I’ve always been happy for her. I just - now I wish she never would have gone because at least then I’d know she was safe.” It comes out shaky, like James is trying his hardest not to cry, like this whole thing is his fault because he didn’t make Camille stay or because he didn’t go with her.

Which. That’s crazy because none of it is James’ fault. There’s no way he could have known what was going to happen, and he was doing what any loving brother would; he let his sister go and pursue her dream. It makes Logan want to hug James that much more, tell him that he doesn’t have to keep up with all this false bravado, that it’s okay to be open and vulnerable considering everything he feels, that it’s okay to crack a smile even though he’s worried about his sister and dad.

He can’t, won’t, doesn’t want to push the boundaries of their newly formed friendship, so he says, “She’ll be okay, they both will.”

“I really hope so.”

There’s another lapse, a long stretch of silence that doesn’t feel awkward this time, but it’s not quite comfortable, either. Logan wants to keep talking, wants to find out all there is to know about James, and for a second he thinks it’s weird that they’ve been traveling together for so long and he’s just now getting to know James, but it doesn’t really matter because even though James has been mostly unpleasant company, he’s been company nonetheless. If Logan had to make this whole journey alone, he’d undoubtedly have driven himself insane by now, or gotten himself killed.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s barely above a whisper, so quiet that James has to have him repeat it. “Thank you,” he says again, louder this time.

“For what?”

“For this. For everything. For saving my life.” And there’s a lump in Logan’s throat again, but he’s not going to cry, he’s not. He’s just - he’s incredibly grateful and no words will ever be able to convey his gratitude, and a thank you is about as close as it gets.

“Yeah, well, we’re not out of the woods yet, so I’d hold that thank you for a while longer,” James says, but it’s said with a smile, and Logan will gladly take it as James’ way of saying ‘you’re welcome’.

There’s a sign on the highway notifying them that the highway they need to continue on is breaking off in a separate direction than the main road, so Logan quickly tells James to change lanes, settling back once they’re heading in the right direction.

“So, how long have you been,” Logan pauses, trying to figure out how to phrase what he wants to ask, “how long have you been outrunning the z-zombies?”

James turns his head towards Logan, brow furrowed, and then turns his attention back to the road. “Um, a few days before I found you, I guess,” he replies. “It just hit our city out of nowhere, but I guess that’s how it happened everywhere. Anyways. The first chance I got, I made a break for it, stole a car and drove as far as I could.”

“Where are you from?”

“Ohio,” James says with disdain, like he’d rather live in a cardboard box on some street anywhere else than live there.

“Ohio? How did you even make it to Minnesota?” Logan asks, perplexed.

“Told you I’m shit with directions,” James says, turning to Logan with an amused smile on his face.

“Yeah, I think I’m understanding that now,” Logan says, pleased with the small laugh it pulls from James.

They drive awhile longer, until James can’t stop yawning, and it’s Logan who points out the sign for lodging. They take the designated exit and pull into another rundown motel somewhere off the I-15 in Utah. James is too tired to do the safety check, so Logan says he’ll do it and quickly exits the car, a little more sure of himself being able to handle a gun. He checks through the lobby and when it comes up clear, he swipes the first room key he sees and quickly exits, running across the pavement to the room number on the key fob.

Logan inserts the key into the lock, turning it only to find that the door is already unlocked. His defenses go up and he draws the gun as he pushes the door open, flicking on the light switch. Nothing seems to be amiss, but he searches thoroughly anyway, relaxing his grip on the gun when everything is okay.

When he gets back out to the car, James’ head is lolled against the headrest, eyes shut and breathing even. He looks so exhausted and Logan hates to wake him, but he opens the driver’s side door carefully, gently shaking James awake. “C’mon, everything is clear,” he says.

James nods sleepily, dragging himself out of the car. Logan slips in and grabs the keys from the ignition, rounding the car to grab their bags and then leading a half-asleep James inside.

James drops down onto the bed almost as soon as they get inside, and he’s curled up and asleep before Logan even has a chance to set their bags down. He hadn’t realized James was so tired and he feels a little bad that they drove for so long. He has this ridiculous urge to pull the covers over James and tuck him in, kiss his forehead and tell him to sleep well, and the longer he stands there, the stronger the urge gets.

It takes every ounce of willpower he has to grab his backpack and move into the bathroom, leaving James to sleep soundly.

His plan is to wash his face and brush his teeth, but when he finds there’s hot water - something that’s become a luxury - he strips down and starts the shower, losing himself under the warm stream.

It’s a small moment of peaceful relaxation for him, a moment to reflect on everything, on the time that’s passed, everything that’s happened to him, and on how close they are to salvation. It’s kind of scary for him that they’re so close and that everything from that point on is unknown. It’s taken some getting used to for him, but he’s learning to roll with the punches instead of constantly having to know everything because now, there’s no way for him to possibly know what will happen in the future; hell, there’s no way he knows what’s going to happen an hour from now.

The water runs cold sooner than he’d have liked, but the heat - while it lasted - helped ease the tension in his shoulders and relax him, and he’s looking forward to a long night of sleep.

Logan’s in the middle of brushing his teeth, bristles running over each tooth thoroughly, when the lights start to flicker. He slowly pulls the toothbrush from his mouth, setting it beside the sink as the lights continue to flicker, an incessant buzzing noise emanating as it fades before returning.

He thinks nothing of it, chalks it up to an electricity malfunction, but then the light goes out and all that surrounds him is darkness. Panic creeps up but he does his best to keep it at bay, breathing deeply through his nose as he grips the edge of the sink.

It’s not more than a few minutes later that the power goes back on and Logan’s panic ebbs away. It returns full force when the sound of loud growling reaches his ears, followed by James’ sleepy and panicked voice.

Logan trips over his feet as he dashes out of the bathroom, and he stops dead in his tracks at what he sees.

There’s blood covering James’ face, his arms, and he’s kicking his feet in an attempt to shake off the zombie that’s got an iron-clad grip on his ankle. Something in Logan snaps and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s leaping across the room and grabbing his gun, aiming it right at the thing’s head and shooting. It seems to draw attention to them, a pack of disgusting, rotting corpses making their way through the busted down door - which Logan didn’t notice at first, and now he’s wondering how the hell he missed all that racket.

He shoots what he can before the gun runs out of ammo, and then he’s throwing the gun to the side, grabbing James’ arm and dragging him into the bathroom. He grabs a towel and wets it, wiping off all the blood he can while muttering about how James has to be okay, how he can’t lose James, not now, not when they’re so close to being where they need to be.

“Hey, I’m okay, Logan,” James says, wincing as Logan wipes over a particularly deep scratch.

Logan doesn’t respond, focused on cleaning James’ wounds as best as he can.

“Logan, I’m okay,” James tries again, this time lifting a hand and carefully tilting Logan’s head up so they’re eye-to-eye.

“You sure?” Logan asks, looking away after a moment, unable to hold James’ intense gaze.

“I’m sure,” James says, sounding exhausted. “Thanks,” he adds after a moment.

“Don’t mention it,” Logan says, and then, “I don’t think it’s safe to go back out there.”

“So, what are we supposed to do then?”

“I dunno, but the floor is looking pretty damn comfortable to me,” Logan says. He’s exhausted and he doesn’t care where he sleeps; even the bathtub is looking comfortable.

“Alright, well, I’m just gonna -” James trails off, gesturing to a spot near the door.

Logan curls up on the floor, waits for James to get situated by the door where apparently he plans to sleep sitting up, and then Logan finally closes his eyes, subconsciously matching his breathing to James’ before he falls asleep.

**Part Three**

Logan wakes up to a firm heat pressed along his back, an arm draped around his waist. He burrows into it for a moment, but then his eyes shoot open when he realizes it’s James. He does his best to keep his breathing even and his body stock still, and he doesn’t move until the heat is gone and he hears James standing. He feigns ignorance and rolls onto his back, lifting a hand to rub at his eye sleepily.

He clears his throat, then says, “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

James won’t look at him, instead staring at his own reflection in the mirror. “Fine,” he says, short and terse. He opens the door and peeks his head around, sees the morning light, bright and sunny, washing over their motel room. “Let’s go; we leave now, we should make it to L.A. before sunset,” he says, already slipping out the bathroom door.

Logan sits up, staring out the door James just walked out of. So they’re back to this, back to James being all closed-off and distant, and okay, he gets it, they’re so close to being where they need to be, but that shouldn’t give James the excuse to revert back to this cold and callous asshole facade.

He lifts himself up off the floor, grabbing his belongings from where he pushed them into a corner and follows James out, quickly getting everything together so they can leave.

“Here,” James says, throwing the keys to Logan. “You can drive the rest of the way.”

“Uh, okay,” Logan responds, fumbling with the keys and everything else he’s holding. He’s not really bothered by the fact that he has to drive, especially since there’s no navigation that needs to be done on James’ part. It’s a straight shot on the I-15 to get to L.A.

They get outside and James drops his bag by the trunk of the car, tells Logan to open the trunk, and when Logan does, James sets his duffel bag inside and pulls out the gas cans, refueling the car with no complaints. Logan doesn’t say anything, just sets his backpack in the trunk and rounds to the front of the car, climbing into the driver’s seat.

The passenger door opens and closes, the force shaking the car slightly, and then James says, “Alright, let’s go.”

It feels weird for Logan to be the one driving, so used to sitting in the passenger seat and directing James where to go. It’s what feels safe to him, what feels natural.

Logan drives slow and cautious, barely going the speed limit as he drives down the streets, following the signs to get back onto the interstate. He picks up speed once he hits the open stretch of highway, swerving every now and then to avoid hitting an abandoned car.

“So, uh, you excited about finally getting to L.A?” Logan asks, unable to handle the silence.

James turns toward him for a second, but then glances right back out the passenger window, avoiding the question - and ultimately, Logan altogether.

This is stupid, Logan thinks. So they woke up curled together, big deal. He’d say it’s not the end of the world, but as far as he knows, this entire zombie bullshit does seem like the end of the world. And what bothers him the most is that for a second, he allowed himself to think that maybe, just maybe, James felt the same way he does. He feels stupid and idiotic, thinking someone like James could ever like someone like him.

It hurts. A lot.

He tries to focus on the fact that they’re only a handful of hours away from L.A., and that everything will be okay once they make it there, that it’ll be easier for him to deal with what he feels for James because he won’t have to be alone with him anymore.

They cross the Arizona state border and then they’re crossing into Nevada, and it still feels odd to be driving with no other vehicles around, especially on a highway that Logan’s positive is always filled with traffic.

Tired of the silence stretching between them, Logan reaches out and turns on the radio, scanning the airwaves in search of something, anything, but all he gets is static, station after station a constant buzz of white noise. He gives up with a sigh and switches over to the cd James has loaded in, and he finds himself humming along quietly as his eyes are locked on the road, completely missing the look of longing and the smile James aims in his direction.

They’re just outside of Las Vegas when Logan notices the clouds of smoke billowing up, and he has no idea what it is, but his curiosity gets the better of him and before he has a chance to second guess himself, he’s pulling off at the nearest exit, using the smoke to guide him.

Barely a mile from the exit is a car, the hood popped, engine smoking. Beside it, there are two people, standing and waving.

When they’re close enough for Logan to see their faces clearly, he says, “Tell me I’m not seeing things.”

“If you’re seeing things, then we’re seeing the same thing,” James says.

“No, it can’t be. That’s -” He doesn’t finish what he started saying, already throwing the car into park and ripping off his seatbelt, scrambling to get out.

“Logan, wait,” James says, reaching out to grab Logan’s arm and keep him inside the car.

“No, James. Let me go,” Logan demands, shaking James’ grip.

“Dammit, Logan. You don’t know if it’s safe to get out,” James says, but he releases his hold on Logan anyway.

“You don’t understand. That’s - those are my friends.”

Logan doesn’t wait for James’ response, jumping out of the car and running over to the two people standing there. “Guys,” he yells, and then there are two sets of arms wrapped around him, hugging him tightly, and he’s hugging back with just as much fierceness.

He never wants to move; he wants to stand here like this forever, surrounded by two people he never thought he’d see again, but he has so many questions so he reluctantly pulls back, shaking his head because he can’t believe this, that they’re real and they’re here.

“I thought -” he starts, looking away for a brief second. He doesn’t need to finish because they know what he thought; they thought the same thing, too.

“We’re okay, Logan,” Kendall says, “Me and Carlos, we’re okay.”

“I just - I never thought I’d see you guys again,” Logan says, and even though he swore to himself he was done crying, he can’t keep the tears away. It’s such a surreal moment, being reunited with his best friends. It’s then that the realization settles in that they’re alone, and he has to swallow down the bile threatening to come up.

“Your mom and Katie?” he asks around the tight lump in his throat, swallowing thickly when Kendall shakes his head. “Carlos?” And Carlos shakes his head, too, bottom lip trembling.

Here they are, no family left except for each other. They’ve always considered each other’s families their own, and the hurt and loss is shared between the three of them.

“How uh - how are you?” Kendall asks.

“All things considered, I’m as good as can be,” Logan says. “What about you guys?”

“It was pretty tough in the beginning, but y’know, we’re okay now,” Kendall replies, Carlos nodding his agreement.

“Man, I just - I can’t believe you guys are actually here, and that you’re okay,” Logan says.

“No, I know. I honestly can’t believe we made it this far. It was kind of touch and go a few times.” The way Kendall says it, the hurt and sadness is so tangible, and that’s such a rare thing. Kendall’s always been brave and strong, no matter how much he was hurting. He’s rarely ever let it show, always saying how he needed to be the strong one for everyone, especially his mom and Katie.

“So, James and I are heading to a supposed safe house in L.A. -”

“Yeah, that’s where Carlos and I are headed - were headed - before this stupid car broke down,” Kendall interrupts, gesturing to the car that’s still smoking. “Wait, who’s James?”

“He’s this guy I met back in Minnesota. He saved my life,” Logan explains briefly. “Anyway, you’re coming with us,” he adds.

“No shit, Shirley. We’re gonna stick to your ass like glue now,” Kendall says, rolling his eyes. There’s no chance in hell that they’ll be separated now.

“Yeah, yeah. Do you guys have anything you need to grab from the car?” Logan’s missed Kendall’s smartass remarks, even though he knows he’ll grow tired of them before they get to Los Angeles.

“Yeah, we each just have a backpack full of stuff. I can go grab it quick,” Kendall says, promptly turning to grab the backpacks from the car.

“Okay, let’s - ” Logan starts when Kendall returns, but he doesn’t get to finish what he’s saying because suddenly he’s being wrapped in Carlos’ arms and Carlos is crying into his neck. All Logan can do is return the hug, trying not to cry himself.

“You okay, buddy?” Logan asks when Carlos finally pulls away.

“Y-yeah. I’m good,” Carlos says, hiccupping.

Logan leads them to the car and when he gets there, James looks far from happy. This was an unscheduled stop and the minutes are ticking by, and Logan knows James is desperate to get to L.A. It takes him a few more minutes to get the backseat cleared and everything organized neatly into the trunk, and then they’re all piling in.

Logan waits until they’re back on the road before he introduces everyone, and when he does, it does nothing but upset him. James answers everything in short, stilted answers, and okay, Logan is totally fine with James acting like an asshole towards him, but towards people he doesn’t even know, people that are Logan’s friends? It doesn’t sit well with Logan.

It’s easier now for Logan to ignore what he feels for James, instead focusing on Kendall and Carlos. He launches a million and one questions at them, only stopping when he looks in the rearview mirror and sees that they’re laughing at him.

“What?”

“Nothing,” they answer at the same time, and then Kendall finally appeases Logan, answering the abundance of questions.

He starts at the beginning, how he was home alone when Carlos burst in through the door, looking as though he had seen a ghost. Carlos had grabbed the remote and changed the channel, and it was then that they saw the broadcast about the unknown disease and what it was doing to people.

By then, it was already too late for Carlos’ parents, especially since his dad was a cop and was undoubtedly captured in the unmanageable situation. Thank goodness for small miracles because Carlos was supposed to be with him, but because of a failed test the day before, Carlos’ dad hadn’t allowed him to go along. Kendall couldn’t find his mom or Katie and when he looked out the window at the chaos that was unfolding, he knew that there was nothing he could do.

He and Carlos hid in his basement for days, fiddling with the radio they had, refusing to give up. They had happened to catch the same announcement James had, and by some miracle, they managed to find a car that wasn’t wrecked to shit, and had the keys in the ignition.

“Kendall, please tell me you drove,” Logan says, glancing in the rearview mirror before returning his attention to the road.

“Of course I did. There’s no way I’d let Carlos behind the wheel of a car,” Kendall replies, laughing lightly to signify that he’s joking.

“Hey!” Carlos says anyway, punching Kendall in the shoulder.

“Anyways,” Kendall says, continuing on with the story while he rubs his shoulder.

Carlos navigated while Kendall drove, and he was surprisingly good at it. They only managed to get lost a handful of times, and the first day was fairly easy. Up until it came time to find somewhere to rest. They used whatever they could find to protect themselves; baseball bats, lamps, chairs. Somehow they always managed to escape unharmed, and there’s an obvious tone of gratefulness and disbelief in Kendall’s voice when he says it.

It seems that almost every car Kendall and Carlos managed to find gave them some sort of mechanical problem and they ended up stranded in different towns, looking for any vehicle that had the keys still in the ignition. It’s what had happened when Logan pulled up; the car they managed to snag a few cities over started puttering and smoking and Kendall had pulled over, trying to assess the damage under the hood when truthfully, he know jackshit about cars.

Carlos was about ready to start a hunt for a different car when Logan pulled up and he’d never been more excited, more grateful to see Logan’s face. And now, thinking about it, he’s kind of glad they had all those mishaps because if they hadn’t, he wouldn’t be here right now, safe in Logan’s car.

Both Kendall and Carlos leave out the details of some of the more harrowing encounters they had, more than sure Logan’s had enough of his own to deal with.

The car goes quiet after they finish telling their story, and it’s then that Logan realizes they’re waiting for him to speak up about his own experiences. He tells them almost the same story he told James, how he was at work with his dad when it started happening and then what happened with his mom, tells them how he left and how James saved his life so many times, and when he says that, he feels everyone’s eyes on him - James included - and it makes his face flush because there’s no doubt about it: his voice went all soft and mellow and filled with so much fucking fondness and adoration that he knows, is absolutely certain, Kendall and Carlos have read right into it, can sense exactly what he feels about James; he just hopes James hasn’t picked up on it yet, but then he realizes that even if James has, they’re so close to being to Los Angeles that it’s not going to matter because they’ll be going their separate ways and his feelings will fade into the background, no longer overpowering his every thought.

“I’m hungry,” Carlos says, jerking Logan from his thoughts.

“Um...all the food is in the trunk,” Logan says, but then James is lifting the cover of the storage area that doubles as an armrest between the seats, pulling out the box of pop-tarts, fruit cups, and granola bars.

“Here you go,” James says, turning slightly to hand them back to Carlos.

Carlos tears into them immediately, mumbling a ‘thanks’ as crumbs fall from his lips.

“Not a problem,” James replies. “Dude, share some with Kendall,” he adds after watching Carlos devour a package of pop-tarts in less than a minute.

“Kendall can get his own food,” Carlos counters, but he hands the granola bars to Kendall nonetheless.

Logan takes his eyes off the road for a second, his eyes flicking over to James and then up to the rear-view mirror where he sees Carlos happily munching, and okay, maybe he judged James’ reaction a little too early because James seems a little more comfortable with Kendall and Carlos, already joking with Carlos and Carlos joking right back.

Kendall might be a different story and it’ll probably take him some time for warm up to James, but Logan doesn’t really care what Kendall’s current feelings are towards James. Well, that’s a lie; he does care what Kendall thinks, but not enough that it’s going to completely change what he feels.

And again, he has to remind himself that in a few hours, what he feels isn’t going to matter, even though no matter how many times he repeats it to himself, he never actually believes it.

“So, James, where’re you from?” Kendall asks, and oh fuck, here it goes: Kendall’s going to start giving James the third degree.

All Logan can do is sink lower in his seat - though it’s not much because he’s fucking driving, dammit - and ignore the way his face flames as Kendall grills James, and the stifled laughter that’s coming from Carlos. He wants to do something, say something, like, tell Kendall to shut the fuck up because seriously? This is not the time for his overprotective shtick to kick in. It can wait until later, or possibly never. He’s not a child, and he doesn’t need Kendall’s approval of James or whatever the fuck, no matter how much Kendall’s trying to look out for him. He’s made it this far and this long with James and what matters to him is that James has saved him, time and time again, and James makes him feel safe, and he enjoys spending time with James, and if Kendall doesn’t approve, well. They’ll just have a few problems.

Kendall finally, finally, finishes his grilling just as they cross into California nearly 3 hours later, and Logan couldn’t be more grateful for the silence in the car. James looks a little nervous and fidgety in his seat, and goddammit Kendall, James has more taxing things to worry about than making a good impression.

“You okay?” Logan asks softly, continuing on to say how Kendall means well, really he does, he just doesn’t quite know when to stop sometimes.

“It’s alright, I understand. I’d probably do the same thing if I was him,” James says, offering Logan a tight smile that fails to be as reassuring as James means it to be.

The last stretch of highway seems to pass in a blur of wrecked and mangled vehicles, exits blocked by scattered wreckage, and as every mile ticks by on the odometer, James seems to tense that much more, blanching. His voice wavers when he tells Logan to take the exit to LAX because starting from there, that’s the only way he knows how to navigate to where Camille is staying.

His hand shakes when he points to the streets Logan needs to turn onto, and fuck, Logan thought other cities were bad, but this. Nothing compares to this. Almost every building they pass is completely wrecked, front glass windows broken and scattered everywhere, streetlamps bent and threatening to fall to the ground completely with each breeze of wind that passes, and the amount of vehicles everywhere, a lot of them still filled with passengers slumped over, is nothing they’ve seen before.

It has all of them - James especially - on edge, nerves a frazzled mess, turning their stomachs uncomfortably.

“There, that street,” James says shakily, pointing to the Palmwoods Hotel sign visible over its surroundings.

Logan slowly pulls into the parking lot, barely getting a chance to park before James is ripping the seatbelt off and throwing the car door open, running up to the entrance doors.

“What’s going on?” Carlos asks, watching James’ frenzied movements.

“James’ sister is here,” Logan says softly, killing the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt.

“Is she - ?”

“I have no idea,” Logan replies. He grabs his and James’ guns, following the path James took. Kendall and Carlos follow closely behind him, carrying the baseball bats that were on the floor of the backseat.

When they get inside, the stench of rotting corpses is so overpowering it stops them dead in their tracks. James, though, James is tearing the lobby apart, mindful of the bodies everywhere. None of the bodies seem to bear any resemblance to James, and it allows Logan to breathe a little easier, if only for a second.

James is already making his way out the doors leading to the pool, his expression grim when he returns. For a second, everything seems to come to a standstill, Logan waiting for James to say that he found Camille. What he says isn’t far off.

“M-my dad,” he stutters out, clamping his mouth shut as a sob tears through him.

Shit. No. Fuck. This can’t be happening.

“Nearly everyone Camille and I know are out there: two of the Jennifer’s, Guitar Dude, the manager Mr. Bitters,” James says, taking control of his emotions. “It’ll be easier if we split up, y’know, check each level,” he adds, pulling his wallet from his back pocket and opening it to a photo of him and Camille.

She’s beautiful, small and petite, especially so with James standing beside her, perfect brown hair in curls framing her face, smiling brightly at the camera.

“We’ll find her, James, we will,” Logan says strongly, and dammit, they have to. There’s no telling what would happen to James if they don’t.

Logan darts up the stairs with James behind him, Carlos and Kendall taking the elevator to the uppermost floors. They each have two floors to check thoroughly, and when Logan gets to the door to the first floor, he gives James a comforting touch on his forearm, and then he’s got his gun poised to shoot as he scopes out the first floor.

The hallway is vacant, as are most of the rooms. Camille’s not in any of them though, so he darts back to the stairs and rapidly ascends to the second floor. His search yields the same results, and dammit, this is not how it’s supposed to go. They’re supposed to find Camille, alive and breathing, but luck just doesn’t seem to be on their side.

Logan’s the first to make it back to the lobby, his stomach feeling like he’s swallowed a ton of bricks.

Carlos exits the elevator next, a grim expression on his face. “No luck,” he says, bottom lip trembling. Carlos is so in touch with his emotions, with the emotions of those surrounding him, and he feels everything so strongly, especially the crushing weight of sadness and defeat.

Kendall doesn’t fair much better, though he carries the feeling of disappointment and despair better than any of them.

It takes minutes that seem like hours for James to finally reappear, hair matted to his forehead with sweat, throwing his hands up in defeat. “I can’t find her,” he says, and there’s so much disappointment and feelings of failure in his words that Logan doesn’t think he can look at him without shedding tears.

“Wait,” Kendall says suddenly, “is there a basement?”

“Uh, yeah, why?” James asks, confused.

“Well, where did we all hide when it started happening in Minnesota?” Kendall asks, directing the question to Carlos and Logan.

“The basement!” they exclaim simultaneously, and then James is darting off in the direction of the basement, the three of them hot on his trail.

The light in the basement flickers and buzzes when James flips the switch, holding his breath as he carefully descends the stairs. Logan cuts in front of him, trying his best to hold the gun up in his shaky hands.

“D-don’t shoot,” a startled voice says, and James is quickly pushing Logan out of the way, nearly tumbling down the remaining few stairs in his haste to get to who Logan soon realizes is Camille.

It’s like everything comes to a head at that moment, watching James wrap his large frame around Camille, tiny and petite and so fucking scared-looking. It’s like this is what the entire trip was about, getting James back to Camille, and Logan feels the emotions washing over him in waves, how defeated James had looked only minutes earlier when he found his father, when there was no trace of Camille, when he saw everyone he’s ever encountered at the Palmwoods as nothing more than a rotting corpse.

Logan hears Carlos sniffling beside him, and even though Carlos barely knows James, he knows - they all know - just how much this moment means to him, what it means to be reunited with his family. It’s the same thing they felt when lady luck shined down on them and reunited them on that stretch of road just outside of Las Vegas.

“I uh, I don’t mean to be an ass, but we’ve got a safe house to get to,” Kendall says, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

Logan and Carlos immediately thwack him on the arm, drawing a pained gasp from Kendall’s lips.

“Shut up,” Logan hisses, embarrassed at Kendall’s insensitivity.

“No, he’s right,” James says, though he doesn’t pull away from the embrace he still has Camille trapped in. Logan’s pretty sure James is never going to let Camille go.

Kendall quirks an eyebrow as if to say I told you so, but Logan ignores him, instead asking if Camille knows anything about the supposed safe house. Camille’s even more clueless than they are, had no idea that a safe house even existed.

Los Angeles is far too big a city to even attempt searching through at this time, barely an hour left before the sun starts to set.

Logan decides then that they can wait one more night and begin the search tomorrow. Everyone seems on board with the plan, and then Logan’s excusing himself, pulling Kendall and Carlos up the stairs and outside to unload the food and water they have.

They carry it all in, making their way back down to the basement, confused when they see an unknown blonde girl standing beside James and Camille. James has finally unwrapped himself from around Camille, though he’s standing close to her side, looking relieved and happy, and it’s then that Logan realizes that what he feels isn’t going to suddenly go away, not with the blinding smile that seems glued to James’ face, or the way his eyes are brighter, beautifully hazel and damn near sparkling.

James slings an arm around Camille’s shoulder, says, “This is Camille, and this is BJ.”

“Just Jennifer now,” she says sadly, her eyes locked on the floor.

It’s clear that BJ was a nickname given to differentiate between her and the other two Jennifers James found earlier, and without them, there’s no need for it; it only serves as a painful reminder of what she lost: her two best friends.

James apologizes quickly, but she merely shrugs it off, says, “Don’t worry about it. Nothing you could’ve done.”

Logan hates the defeated sound of her voice, hates that James was with him when he should’ve been here with Camille instead, because if he had been, he would’ve been able to save so many more people. What he hates more is the fact that he’s glad James was with him instead, and he feels like such an asshole for thinking it, but there’s really nothing that can be done to change what’s happened.

James then introduces the girls to Logan, Kendall, and Carlos, and their acknowledgement of each other doesn’t go past a curt nod of their heads. It’s awkward standing there, silence all encompassing, covering like a thick blanket that threatens to suffocate.

“There’s some food and water if you guys would like some,” Logan says into the silence when it’s clear no one else is going to speak up. “I mean, the food isn’t much, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Thanks,” Camille says shyly, moving toward the bags, James following right behind her.

Carlos digs in, too, though he lets Camille and Jennifer pick what they want first before he grabs anything.

While they’re busy eating, Kendall takes the available moment and pulls Logan to the side, amused at the way Logan’s eyes never seem to leave James.

“Seems like a good guy,” Kendall says, jerking his head in James’ direction.

Logan stops and blinks, drawing his attention to Kendall. Logan wants to laugh and say, “No shit, I could’ve told you that,” but he doesn’t, instead smiling at Kendall’s apparent approval, which, still. Not like he needs it, but it feels good that Kendall doesn’t hate James.

Camille leads them to a space further back, lined with mattresses and blankets and pillows, and shit, Logan feels instantly tired just looking at them. They press themselves back against the wall, sitting comfortably on the mattresses, Logan sitting between Kendall and Carlos, James bracketed by Camille and Jennifer.

Camille’s voice is shaky and timid as she asks James about their mom, and in the few seconds it takes her to get the question out, everything about James reverts back to the way he was before, sitting up tense and rigid.

This is what Logan’s been waiting for, James’ entire story, only now he doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle it, not with all the emotions coursing through every single one of them. But James starts talking and Logan instantly tunes everything else out, focusing on the words James is saying, the way his voice threatens to break and how he pushes through it, keeps going until everything is out there in the open.

When James finishes, Camille’s a wreck and no amount of consoling is quieting her down.

Logan scrubs a hand through his hair, swallowing hard past the lump in his throat. Fuck. He had no idea just how bad it was for James. But everything makes sense and Logan wishes it didn’t. He could’ve lived without hearing what James had to go through, couldn’t imagine having to do something like that himself.

James had to shoot his own mother.

Logan understands it all, the hot and cold of James’ moods, why every time James seemed to come out of his shell he’d go right back in. He couldn’t let himself get emotionally attached to someone out of the fear that he’d have to do the same thing to them, and god, this just isn’t fucking fair. James should have never had to have gone through something like that; no one should ever have to. There’s nothing no one could ever say to him that would take away the heavy guilt something like that causes, no matter that James did it to save himself. She was still his mother, even if that stupid fucking disease had gotten to her.

Fuck. Logan just. He just wants to scoop James up, take him away from all of this, kiss him over and over and tell him that he’ll be okay, that this will all be okay and that he’ll never have to worry about something like this ever happening again. But he can’t. He’ll never be able to. Camille’s the one that’ll be doing that, just like she is right now, her arms wrapped fierce and protective around James as James collapses against her side, hiccupping sobs that rattle Logan to his core, break his heart over and over every time they pierce the silence.

Carlos moves in closer against Logan’s side, laying his head on Logan’s shoulder. It’s okay. Logan knows it’s not, knows it’s far from being okay, but he appreciates Carlos’ warmth against his side anyway.

It goes silent and James’ sobs taper off, turning to these barely audible shaky breaths. No one knows what to do or what to say, and silence is the only thing that seems fitting.

Carlos has fallen asleep against Logan’s side, and so he tries his hardest not to move, unsure of how Carlos sleeps now. Before, Carlos slept like the dead - the dead, hah - and no amount of screaming or yelling or jostling woke up him, save for the mention of food. For all Logan knows now, the slightest shift could wake Carlos up, and well, Carlos deserves to sleep. They all do. They’ve been through so much, more than any of them should’ve had to at their age.

There’s the sound of soft murmuring and Logan turns his attention towards it, finds James and Camille with their heads bent low, though Camille keeps darting these not so secretive glances in Logan’s direction and it makes Logan wonder what they’re talking about. His gaze stays fixed there until James glances at him, and there’s a distinct dusting of pink along the apples of James’ cheeks and that - that kind of throws Logan for a loop because what the hell. Is James blushing? While looking at him?

Logan has to force himself to look away, to remind himself that come tomorrow, none of this will matter and they’ll be going their separate ways, him with Kendall and Carlos, James with Camille and probably Jennifer.

Still. It makes himself flush warm all over, his heart race in his chest, and this time he welcomes that feeling, welcomes it over the other times his heart has gone all erratic and out of control because at least this time, he knows it’s not because his life is in danger.

Time passes in a trickle of slow minutes and no one’s doing or saying anything. Logan carefully detaches Carlos from his side, Kendall offering his assistance. They spread themselves out amongst the mattresses laid out on the floor and it’s easier to sleep now, safety and protection looming ahead.

\--

Logan’s crouched down on his knees, his hands held out in front of him, covered in blood. It’s everywhere, the thick, metallic-smelling substance pervading every one of his senses. He has no idea where it came from or why it’s all over his hands, but when he looks at the space off to his side, there’s a body there, no movement visible, not even the rise and fall of its chest.

He shuffles over on his hands and knees, ignoring the way his bloody handprints mark up the floor beneath him. A choked off gasp makes its way out when he gets a good look at who’s lying on the floor, and tears immediately spring to his eyes. This can’t be happening. This can’t be real. They’ve done everything they can to avoid this, but it’s right here, right in front of him, and it’s not fair.

He lifts his hands and examines them again, the worst kind of shock running through him when he realizes it’s James’ blood on his hands, that he’s the one responsible for James laying there, unmoving. He smooths a bloodied hand over James’ forehead, pushing James’ hair back.

“What have I done?” The question rings loud in the silence, goes unanswered. He has no idea what he’s done, or why he did it. All he knows is that James is gone; James is gone and it’s his fault.

“Oh god, James,” he cries, laying himself over James’ body, not caring that he’s bloodying himself up even more. “No, James,” he says, over and over and over, the only combination of words he can even string together now.

Logan feels himself being shaken and he lifts his head, blinks open his eyes, and James is there, hovering over him with a careful arm on his shoulder, worry etched all over his face.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.” James says it over and over like he’s trying to convince Logan, though it’s clear it’s more to convince himself. His face is nothing like the golden sun kissed hue Logan’s used to; instead it’s blanched white, worse than it was when they first entered L.A and it’s something Logan knows he never wants to see on James’ face again.

“I’m okay,” Logan says, tasting the words in his mouth. “Just a nightmare,” he says, rubbing his eyes, feeling the wetness of tears on his cheeks.

Carlos and Kendall are both at Logan’s side, opposite where James is kneeling, looking down at him with concern, even after he says he’s okay, that it was just a nightmare. None of them believe him, but they all back away, giving him space as he takes slow and steady breaths, getting his nerves under control.

Minutes pass and Logan’s left alone with his thoughts, the sounds of everyone’s even breaths the only thing around him. It’s the first time he’s dreamt about James; his nightmares are usually plagued with images of his parents. He’s fairly certain he knows exactly why James has suddenly invaded them: it all has to do with what tomorrow holds, how it’ll no longer just be him and James, how he’ll be with Carlos and Kendall, how James will be with Camille and Jennifer. He doesn’t even let himself read into James’ scared expression, won’t let himself hope and dream about what it meant because in a few short hours, it’s not going to matter.

\--

Logan doesn’t get much sleep after waking from his nightmare, flashes of James bloody and still appearing every time he closes his eyes. He’s restless, spends half the night tossing and turning, but it does little to settle his racing mind. He has no idea how late or early it is when he climbs off the mattress, tip-toeing quietly through the basement and up the stairs.

It’s edging closer to morning, Logan thinks, judging from the amount of light filtering into the lobby. He stands in the entryway between the lobby and the pool area, soaking up the calming air that washes over him, the clear sky above him that’s just tinged with hues of pinks and oranges as the sun starts to rise.

There’s the sound of feet shuffling behind him and he panics for a moment, breath coming out quick and uneven until he turns and sees Kendall approaching him, looking like he’s asleep on his feet.

“What’s up, dude?” Logan asks, stifling a yawn when Kendall yawns.

“James is fucking crazy. Does he always wake up this early and act like a psychopath?” Kendall’s really not a morning person, but he always staggers through it until he’s awake enough to function properly. It’s always worse when he’s woken up by someone else, well before he’d wake on his own.

Logan has to resist the urge to roll his eyes and call Kendall something along the lines of sleeping beauty or princess because well, that’s exactly how Kendall’s acting, like his world is coming to an end because he was woken up early, by James.

“No, not really. He’s pretty quiet most mornings, even the times we had to sleep in the car, granted there wasn’t much space for him to move around in or make noise or act like a psychopath. Not that he is, because he’s not,” Logan says, looking away because he can’t deal with Kendall’s scrutinizing gaze this early in the morning.

“So,” Kendall starts, letting it hang in the air for a moment. “James, huh?”

“What about James?” Logan’s fairly certain he knows where this conversation is going, and he’s hoping by feigning ignorance it’ll go in a different direction. Knowing Kendall, though, he knows he has no chance of that actually happening.

“I dunno. You tell me.”

There’s really nothing to tell, nothing that Kendall hasn’t already figured out on his own, and besides, Logan thought they were past this.

“Tell you what?” Logan asks, curious as to what Kendall’s really trying to get at.

“I just. Are you sure it’s not just some kind of misplaced emotions? I mean, he did save you a couple times. Are you sure it’s not just some kind of hero worship you’re mistaking as something else?”

Logan’s head snaps up immediately at the ludicrous assumption. He had a feeling Kendall really wasn’t as okay with his feelings toward James as he made it seem, but for Kendall to come right out and say something like that, it kind of takes Logan by surprise.

“Yes, Kendall, I’m positive. Maybe that’s the whole basis of me actually liking him. I feel safe and protected around him. I just - I don’t know how to explain it, but yes, I’m sure about what I feel for him.” Logan tries to keep his tone calm and relaxed, hushed and quiet, though he can’t keep the rise in his voice from sneaking in at the end because he just needs Kendall to understand.

“Okay,” Kendall says, and it’s clear that he doesn’t quite understand, but the heavy knot of uncertainty sitting in the pit of Logan’s stop seems to lessen, albeit only slightly. “So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

“Nothing.” Because what can he do?

“So, what? You’re just going to pine over him?” Now Kendall really doesn’t understand. Why was Logan so adamant about Kendall understanding when he plans on doing absolutely nothing about it?

“What can I do, Kendall? When this is all over, will my feelings even matter? We’ll both be so busy trying to get our lives back to some semblance of what we had before -”

“You’re stupid. I mean, for someone so smart, you’re incredibly stupid.”

“What?”

“Logan, there’s no way any of us are going to be able to go back to what our lives were like before this. It’s impossible. The shit we’ve all been through? We can’t just pretend like it never happened and go back to how our lives were before this. James especially. Logan, he had to shoot his mother. Do you think he’s going to be able to go back and live his life like that didn’t happen?”

“No, of course not, but that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean then? Because from what I see, there’s no way you won’t fit into his life, that we won’t all fit into each others’ lives in some way or another. This here, today? This is the starting point of the rest of our lives because what we knew before this? Everything ahead of us is a million times different than that and we all know it.”

Logan knows that, he does. It’s just - he doesn’t even know anymore, and the fight quickly leaves him; he has no rebuttal because what can he say?

“Now really, tell me what the real problem is,” Kendall says, and his voice is gentle, soft.

And the real problem, the real reason he doesn’t even want to try pursuing James? “He wouldn’t want me.” Sure, he’s maybe allowed himself to hope that James would return his feelings, but hoping and knowing are two completely different things, and he’s never actually allowed himself to consider James rejecting him. It was easier to convince himself that once they get to the safe house that his feelings wouldn’t matter because they’d be too busy trying to sort their lives out.

“You really are stupid,” Kendall says, shaking his head in disbelief. “You didn’t see his face when he tried waking you from that nightmare last night. God, Logan, he looked like he was going to cry. He tried waking you up and when he couldn’t, he got me and Carlos, and when we couldn’t wake you up, it got worse. He was seconds from ripping his hair out, dude, and then he started shaking you and you finally woke up and it was like he won the fucking lottery or something.”

Logan wants to tell Kendall to shut up, that he doesn’t want to hear this, but it’s all sinking in and there’s a huge glimmer of hope blossoming in his chest that’s got him thinking that maybe they can make this work, that maybe they’ll be able to fit into each others’ lives as easily as Kendall makes it seem. But he knows nothing is ever as easy as it seems and god.

It’s so hard not to get his hopes up with everything Kendall’s said because he wants to believe so badly that James wants him. Add into it the way James was talking with Camille last night and the way he kept looking at Logan and blushing makes Logan really consider what Kendall’s saying.

“There you guys are.”

James is standing just behind Kendall, looking incredibly relieved that he’s found them.

“I thought something happened to you guys,” James says, and there’s so much terror and relief in his voice that Logan wants to throw himself into James’ arms and promise that he’ll never disappear without letting James know where he’s going.

Kendall gives Logan a pointed glance, a see, I told you so look if Logan’s ever seen one, and Logan just rolls his eyes in response, addresses James and says, “Yeah, sorry, Kendall and I were talking and we didn’t want to wake you guys so we came up here.”

“Oh, okay,” James says, his eyes darting between Logan and Kendall as if he’ll be able to tell what they were talking about just by looking at them. “The others are already awake, so I was thinking we could head out soon.”

Logan lets out a breath and nods his head, avoids meeting Kendall’s eyes as he follows behind James back down to the basement.

\--

Since the space in the car is limited, they all decide to leave the food and case of water in the basement. Suitcases are loaded into the trunk, though it takes some serious reorganization when Jennifer shows up with three large suitcases and Camille with two. It all fits once Logan removes the gas cans, leaving them discarded in the parking lot because they won’t need them anymore.

It’s an even tighter fit getting themselves into the car, and Logan’s for once grateful that he’s driving because he actually has room to breathe. Kendall’s riding shotgun while James, Camille, Jennifer, and Carlos are piled into the back, pressed door to door with little room to move.

Logan suggests they stop for gas one last time since they’ll be driving around most of the day trying to find the safe house and when he’s met with no objections, he starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, allowing Camille to act as the navigator, Jennifer occasionally cutting in, since they’re the only two that know anything about the layout of Los Angeles.

There’s a gas station not far from the Palmwoods and within ten minutes, they’re fueled up and back on the road, turning down every street they can in hopes of some kind of sign that’ll lead them to safety. Every turn that comes up empty has them more on edge, more aware of the fact that there might not even be a safe house anymore.

The quiet doesn’t last long; with every turn that yields nothing, everyone’s quick to offer their opinion on where they should head next and what was once a quiet smattering of voices turns into everyone’s voices rising steadily as they fight to have their opinion heard.

Logan knows he can’t appease them all and after being yelled at for what seems to be the hundredth time, he slams on the brakes and pulls over to the side of the road, shifting the car into park before climbing out. He tugs at his hair in frustration, biting his bottom lip to keep from yelling.

“Logan, what’s wrong?” James asks, appearing at Logan’s side.

“What’s wrong? Are you kidding? I cannot please everyone, James. I’m sick of being yelled at because I can’t turn every which way you guys want me to. I want to find this place just as bad as the rest of you, but yelling at me isn’t going to help us find it any faster.” Logan knows it’s unfair to take it out on James because it’s not just James doing the yelling; it’s all of them. Still, though, it feels good to let it out and he’s not wound so tight anymore, can even breathe easier without the incessant nagging surrounding him.

“I’m sorry,” James apologizes, gesturing to himself and the others, “We’re all just a little on edge right now and we know yelling isn’t gonna really help, but I guess it’s how we’re keeping our sanity right now.”

“It’s fine,” Logan says, brushing it off even though it’s resolutely not fine. “Let’s just go; we’re wasting time standing around here.”

James looks like he wants to say something else, but for the first time, Logan’s the one walking away, leaving James to follow behind him back to the car.

“Okay, where to next?”

\--

They drive for hours and hours, and still come up with nothing. The car is quiet and no one’s offering their input anymore, allowing Logan to take whatever turns he wants. He’s pretty sure it means that they’re all throwing in the towel, giving up on ever finding the place.

Somehow, after a bunch of turns he wasn’t paying attention to, Logan steers them in the direction of what looks to be an industrial area somewhere on the outskirts of the city. There are gravel roads veering off in a bunch of different directions, pathways to buildings enclosed by wire fencing.

It’s gotta be around here somewhere, Logan thinks. It makes the most sense that a building that would be used as a place of safety would be surrounding by wire fencing, a way of regulating who comes in and who goes out. The only problem is that there are so many and any one of them could be it and it might take the rest of the day to find out which one it is, if it’s even in the area.

The first building is rundown and deserted, much like everything else they’ve all seen over the course of the last week. The second building doesn’t fair much better, and as Logan’s driving up the dirt path to the third building, he can’t help but say, “Third time’s the charm, please let this be it,” more to himself than the others because the others aren’t paying much attention to what Logan’s doing, only giving him an odd glance every now and then.

His palms are sweaty where he’s gripping the steering wheel tight, his heart beating fast and hard in his chest.

For a moment, he’s certain he’s seeing things, but the closer to the building he gets, the more sure he is of what he’s seeing: guards positioned at the gate.

There’s a collective gasp of ‘holy shit’ from the others when he reaches the gate and he’s so fucking relieved he could cry. The moment the gates open and they’re directed inside, a tear slides its way down Logan’s cheek and he doesn’t even try to hide it; none of them do.

They did it. They made it.

The guard that directed them inside approaches the car as they climb out, and the girls’ resounding gasp of fear mimics what Logan feels as the guard aims a rifle at them.

“W-we’re not - we’re not infected, I swear, please,” Logan begs, trembling as he tries to hold himself upright, relaxing a fraction when he feels Carlos and Kendall flanking his sides.

“Calm down, son, I just had to be sure,” the guard says, immediately dropping his gun and motioning them to follow him to a set of doors on the side of the building.

When they get inside, they’re all pushed and pulled in separate directions, someone leading each of them to a different area, one for a vaccination Logan is incredibly wary of being given, another for debriefing, another for some sort of registration where they’re all required to give information about who they are and who they’re with, if they have any living family members, and it’s all so much to deal with and by the time they’re finished and brought back together, each of them is ready to pass out where they stand.

A different guard guides them up the stairs to the second floor and it’s not what any of them imagined, but god, there are people, so many people. It’s explained that this floor is the living area and each bed is sectioned off by curtains to give a feeling of privacy. They’re also told that if need be, they can be given a larger area that will fit the six of them, and without discussing it, they’re all nodding, a silent way of saying, “That’s what we want.”

The guard chuckles, something that seems to be incredibly out of place given the circumstance, but leads them to one of the larger areas, drawing back the curtain to show them where they’ll be staying. It’s really not much, three beds pushed against a wall, three beds opposite them, a small walkway between them. There’s a pillow and what’s sure to be an itchy blanket on top of the beds, which are nothing more than foldaway beds that don’t look very comfortable, but then again, anything is better than sleeping in the car or on a ratty mattress on a basement floor.

“So, what happens now?” Logan asks.

“You’re probably not going to like the answer, but we wait. That’s all we can do. There are other guards, military men, in other states trying to get the situation under control, and until we’re given the signal that it’s safe, waiting is the best thing we can do,” the guard explains.

Logan snorts at his answer, to which Kendall backs up with a scoff.

“I know, and I’m sorry. I wish there was more we could do, but it’s not safe out there as I’m sure you all have seen, and waiting here is the best we can offer.” The guard offers them a sympathetic smile before going on to explain how everything else works, where bathrooms and showers are located, where and when they can eat, and what they can do to make the time pass easier.

“We have luggage in the trunk of our car. Is there any way we could go get them?” James asks.

“If you give me the keys, I’ll be glad to bring them up for you,” the guard replies kindly.

“Logan,” James says, nodding his head in the direction of the guard.

“Yeah, sure,” Logan says, pulling the keys from his pocket and handing them to the guard.

“Why don’t you guys get settled in and I’ll bring them up to you as soon as I can,” the guard says, nodding politely before turning and walking away.

“I wonder if he realizes he’s going to need about six more arms if he plans on bringing all that stuff in on his own,” Carlos says, drawing a surprised laugh from everyone. And god does it feel good to laugh.

“What?” Carlos asks, cheeks pink. “You saw how many suitcases the girls have. There’s no way he’s bringing that all up in one trip.”

“James, too. He has two huge duffel bags,” Logan says, smirking at James’ indignant huff.

That causes another laugh to trickle its way out, and here, right now, everything feels so much easier, like a huge weight has been lifted from all of their shoulders and they can breathe and relax easier than they’ve been able to in what feels like a lifetime.

\--

Choosing beds is an easy matter: Kendall, Carlos, and Logan gets the beds pushing up against the wall, and James, Camille, and Jennifer get the beds opposite them. Their luggage, when it’s brought up to them, gets stowed under their beds, and then they’re being herded to the third floor to eat.

There’s an assortment of food, real food, ranging from spaghetti to pizza to salads that they’re assured are safe, to chicken nuggets to ham sandwiches and apple pie or cookies for dessert.

As expected, Carlos shovels everything he can into his mouth, eating until he’s about to burst. The rest of them eat at a more leisurely pace, their plates nowhere near as filled as Carlos’. It’s good, though, to eat actual food and not something that’s meant to be a snack or a quick breakfast meal.

After dinner, they’re free to do whatever they want, and the six of them head back to their sleeping quarters. James is intent on finding a shower, Kendall and Carlos following behind. Logan’s left with Camille and Jennifer and he expects it to be awkward, but it’s the exact opposite. It’s easy to talk to the two of them, though Jennifer is quiet and subdued whereas Camille is loud and boisterous, gesturing wildly with her hands as she talks.

Logan excuses himself after awhile, heading in the direction of where he assumes the bathrooms are. Instead, he gets sidetracked and climbs the stairs back up to the third floor, but he keeps going, passing the fourth, fifth, sixth floor until he’s at the top. He expects it to be locked, but when he pushes it, it opens easily and he steps out onto the roof, walking carefully until he makes it to the edge that’s surrounded by a metal guardrail.

He breathes in the fall air, leaning against the railing as he looks out over the edge at his surrounding. There’s nothing but nondescript buildings in either direction and for some reason it makes him feel calm, safe. The sun is beginning to set, the sky above him a smear of blues and pinks and purples and oranges. It’s a beautiful sight in the midst of the chaotic world he’s living in.

“I hope you don’t plan on jumping,” a voice says from behind him, scaring him to the point where he nearly topples over.

“No, but you scaring me like that nearly caused me to fall over,” he quips back, turning around to find James standing behind him.

“Sorry,” James says, moving toward where Logan’s standing. “What are you doing up here?”

“I dunno, just needed some air, I guess,” Logan says, shrugging his shoulders. “What about you? What are you doing up here?”

“I dunno, just needed some air, I guess,” James parrots, lips quirking up in a smile. “No, but really, I uh, I couldn’t find you when I got back, and I looked around and didn’t see you anywhere, so I took a guess and came up here.”

Logan doesn’t quite know what to do with that, so he settles for a quiet ‘oh’, turning his attention back to staring out at the land around them.

“You okay?” James asks, a comforting hand making its way to the middle of Logan’s back.

“Yeah. It’s just a lot to take in, being here and all,” Logan says, though it’s only partially the truth.

“It’s the waiting thing, right? How we don’t know what’s going to happen from here?”

“I guess, yeah. I just like knowing what’s going on, y’know? This entire situation is completely out of our hands and I hate that we have no control over it.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean, but you’ve gotta believe that everything will be okay. We’ve made it this far, right?”

“But you don’t know that it’ll be okay. None of us do. And that - it scares me,” Logan admits quietly, letting out a tired sigh.

“You’re right. I don’t know that it’ll be okay, but you can’t stop hoping that it will be. We’ve been through a lot of shit, Logan, and we’re still here. You’ve gotta trust that these people know what they’re doing,” James says, his hand running up and down the length of Logan’s back. “You’ve got Kendall and Carlos, and I’ve got my sister and Jennifer, and eventually things will be okay, Logan.”

“What about you, James? Do I have you?” Logan’s voice is quiet and soft, like James isn’t mean to hear the question.

When he’s met with nothing but silence, Logan immediately regrets saying anything and he folds in on himself, swallowing thickly when the heat of James’ hand disappears.

“Just forget it,” Logan says softly, pushing away from the railing and turning to walk away.

“Logan, wait,” James says, wrapping a hand around Logan’s wrist and pulling him in until they’re standing nearly flush against each other.

James’ thumb brushes back and forth over Logan’s pulse point in his wrist, and it’s with a heavy thudding in his chest that Logan brings his eyes up to James’.

“Of course you have me. I’m not - I’m not going anywhere,” James says, gentle and honest. The hand that’s wrapped around Logan’s wrist slides down until their palms are pressed together and then James is lacing their fingers together, bringing it up between them and pressing a chaste kiss to Logan’s knuckles.

“You’re kind of stuck with me now,” he says, leaning in and brushing his lips against Logan’s, soft and fleeting.

“I think maybe I’m okay with that,” Logan says, smiling.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And then James is leaning back in, his free hand coming up to cradle the side of Logan’s neck as he presses their lips together again, soft but with more meaning.

When they separate, Logan’s eyes flutter open and he stares into James’ eyes, sees the truth and honesty there, and he lets himself believe that things will be okay; maybe not today or tomorrow or even a month from now, but eventually he believes it will be. He has James by his side, Kendall and Carlos, Camille and Jennifer, and after everything they’ve been through, there’s no way things won’t be okay for them.

They've made it to where they need to be, surpassing and prevailing against all odds when it seemed like there was no way they'd survive, and from here on out, it's easy - easier. Logan knows they've still got a ton of issues to work through, that the things they've endured aren't things that'll simply just go away, but they're safe and protected now, surrounded by friends and family and love, and he finds comfort in it all, certain that even though the path to recovery will be rough, it'll all be enough to get them through it.


End file.
